


Good Bad Vibes

by OllyOllyOxenFree



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Blood, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Guns, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Smut, Torture, Undermafia, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-24 04:34:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 41
Words: 92,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6141646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OllyOllyOxenFree/pseuds/OllyOllyOxenFree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wind carries with it a heat; a promise of summer. Underneath all of the smoky smells of the city, you catch the scent of trees and the varied sounds of bustling life. But waiting in the wings, side-by-side, are the simultaneously silent and explosive dealings of crime.</p><p>This is New Ebott.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How Come You Do Me Like You Do?

You place your hand on your hair, the strong wind threatening to blow it right into your face. You wish you could just cut it all off. But that won’t do. The wind carries with it a heat; a promise of summer. Underneath all of the smoky smells of the city, you catch the scent of trees and the varied sounds of bustling life.

This is New Ebott.

You walk down the sidewalk through the throngs of people. Tall buildings throw geometric shadows, crisscrossing the streets into a dark latticework; some peaceful in their depth, some malevolent, all awe-inspiring. Your eyes flit between the faces you pass by. Seemingly “normal,” whatever that word means, but almost all are freaks, criminals, or degenerates of some kind. As unpredictable as a jazz line. It leaves you to wonder where you fit in. You obviously do…somewhere. You just have yet to find out. You stick your hand back in your pocket and idly finger the hole you made in it.

While in your musings, you attempt to cross the street. That is, until a loud honk jars you from your thoughts and a grubby man in a rusty yellow taxi starts yelling at you. Not again. And why today?

You yell back, “Hey, watch out bud, can’t ya see I’m walkin’ here!”

He throws out his arm, face red, “You’re lucky you got a pretty face, toots, or I’d pop ya one good!”

You bristle and walk past the taxi, deciding it’s not worth it.  _Except_  for one last jab, “Yeah, yeah I’d like to see ya try, tubs. Now get outta here!”

He speeds past you and you hit the tail end of his cab with the flat of your palm. You exhale hard and continue your way to the joint you like to call your second home. You approach and look at the sign hanging over the door. The dim, sun-kissed paint is chipping off, but in a classy way, you know? Makes it look lived in. You open the door and step into Grillby’s.

Monsters you’ve seen before turn their heads, curious at the stranger who’s stumbled in, maybe with purpose, maybe with none. But when the darkness reveals it’s you, they give you small waves. You return the gesture and make your way to the bar. Grillby, the on-fire-ever-so-hot owner, is behind the counter in his usual place. He’s dressed smartly in a crisp white shirt, black vest, and armbands. How his clothes don’t catch on fire, you have no idea, but living this long in this town, you’ve learned not to ask too many questions. He looks up at you over the rim of his glasses and gives what you’ve come to assume is a smile. You hop onto one of the stools and cross your legs. You lean forward onto the bar and cross your arms as well.

“Hey G. Got a remedy for a gal who’s had a rough day?” Your voice goes a little hushed. “Preferably strong.”

He crackles and responds in his sibilant tone that reminds you of a campfire on a windy night, “I’ll see what I got.” He points a finger at you. “But it’s only because I like ya.”

You chuckle as he disappears into the back for a moment before coming back out with a dark glass with liquid in it. You could be drinking anything. Water, perhaps. Tea, maybe.

But only you and Grillby  _really_  know it’s whiskey. Neat.

You take a sip and close your eyes, sighing at the heat as it goes down and spreads out into your limbs. You raise your glass to Grillby. “To the water of life, G.”

He laughs and leans one arm on the bar as he picks up the glass he was polishing.

“So what’s got your day so rough?”

You attempt to wave off your troubles with your hand as you say, “Work. And damn taxi drivers.”

He raises his eyebrow at you. “Again?”

You roll your eyes at that. You guess it  _has_  happened a bit frequently. But you place your hand under your chin as you take another sip, flashing Grillby an award-winning smile. “I think it’s just my magnetic personality.”

His flames glow brighter as he sizzles in laughter. “Or your fat mouth.”

You laugh, long and loud and rhythmic, giving Grillby another salute. “Touché.”

He’s about to say something else, when you hear the door open, warm breeze traveling in and kicking up your loose pant legs. You turn on your stool to get a better view, but don’t stare long. Gangsters. If you ain’t got business with ‘em, buzz off. Now these guys, compared to others, are the good guys. Keep places safe, make sure the area’s clear of hooligans and nuts who want to fight, all that. Everyone knows what they really peddle though. The three M’s: money, moonshine, and magic. They play a dangerous game and you would do well to try and stay out of it.

The gangsters that have walked into Grillby’s don’t look all that frightening to you, but looks are deceiving. Today, the house deals two pairs: dogs and skeletons. They range in size; the largest is one dog, then the taller skeleton, next the stockier one, then the other dog. But all dressed to the nines in sharp three-piece suits. That’s what the three M’s get ya.

As they slide into a booth, Grillby walks around the bar with a confident air. He caters to many different crowds, and especially to those who supply him with the beverage you’re enjoying yourself. You take another sip and focus on the bar in front of you.

Grillby strides up to the table. “Afternoon G.D., L.D., Papyrus, Sans.”

The dogs wag their tails and the tall skeleton responds with a cheery, “Hey Grillby!” The shorter one nods and waves.

Grillby smiles and nods back. “The usual I take it?” Everyone nods as Grillby leaves to fill the orders.

Papyrus leans in, loud voice quieter than usual. “We must stay vigilant. W.D. heard some rumors that something might happen today. We do not know where.” Everyone nods their understanding, discreetly checking to make sure they have their guns, should any crashers show up.

Sans scans the joint. He knows the exits and entrances pretty well. If anyone showed up uninvited, they would come through the front. As his eyes move across the room, recognizing most of the patrons, he sees someone he doesn’t at the bar. He lingers. They’re dressed in a trim, cream pant suit that hugs the waist  _just_  right he thinks. His eyes flick up as Grillby approaches with the orders. After he’s done setting them down, Sans taps Grillby’s arm, motioning him close. He tilts his skull to the bar.

“who’s the doll?”

He looks back to you at the bar. He groans inwardly. Even though Sans is a nice guy, he doesn’t want you to get involved with this crowd.

“A regular. Just not when you are.”

Sans grins. “well, maybe i should go welcome them.”

Grillby raises his eyebrow. “I should warn you, they’re a bearcat.”

Sans waves him off. “nothin’ i can’t handle.”

“Good luck.” Grillby says as Sans gets up from the table. Papyrus waves down Grillby and starts to inform him of what he’s heard.

Sans saunters over to the counter, sliding onto the stool beside you. You’re nearly finished with your drink when you notice the stockier skeleton suddenly next to you. Ah, hell.

He speaks, “come round here often?” His voice is low, with a slight gravelly quality like when you hear a steamer coming from a long way off. You glance at him. He’s shorter than the other skeleton, but taller than you, dressed in a dark grey suit, with a midnight blue shirt and tie. His sockets are dark except for two vivid white lights. He also has this grin stretching across his face. You wonder if it changes. You don’t really want to answer him, but it’s in your best interest right now to play along.

“Depends who’s askin’.”

He smiles even wider and holds out his hand. “the name’s sans. sans the skeleton.” You look at it and only wait a beat before grasping it.

You suddenly yelp and rip your hand from his as a small burst of electricity jolts you. You hold your hand and laugh out of shock, staring at him as Sans laughs uproariously, tumultuous and deep.

“sorry, couldn’t pass that up. special order from my friend, dr. a.” He removes the buzzer and holds his hand out again. “let’s try that again. sans.”

You laugh even more and shake his hand, forgetting for a moment that he’s a gangster. You haven’t been pranked in a while, and it makes you smile. You’re always up for a good joke, no matter where it comes from.

“___.”

“so what brings ya to this neck o’ the woods?”

You think and decide to be honest. Nothing bad comes from telling the truth, right? “A rough day,” you answer.

Sans nods and folds his hands on the bar. “and how’s the water treatin’ ya?”

You give him a sidelong glance. “Does just the trick. Guess I should be thankin’ ya for it, huh?”

He chuckles and shrugs. “me? naw, water’s free ain’t it?”

You salute him and shoot down the remaining bit of disguised amber liquid. “You got a point.”

Sans is about to say something else, when the door opens again. You hear several pairs of footsteps and turn. Sans turns as well and his eye-sockets widen.

He hisses, “shit,” right before the group pulls out their tommy guns and the grimy human leading them shouts, “Dust ‘em!”

Everyone scrambles for cover, including Sans, who throws up a table for cover with his magic before he grabs your waist, dragging you down with him. You land and hunch over, groaning from the impact. Shit. This is such a perfect ending to your day. You hurriedly stick your hand into your pocket, pulling out the small .38 pocket pistol you keep strapped around your thigh. You look over at Sans who’s taking his own gun out, peering around to check the situation. The bullets ring out in the small establishment and a few hit your table. You duck your head.

Hell breaks loose even more as you hear more shots coming from Sans and you assume the others. You grimace and yell at him, “Don’t you have magic?”

He turns his skull to you quickly, winking. “yeah, but ya can never have enough bullets.” He twists back around and shoots. Most of the men are gone, and Sans manages to take one out before running out of bullets, the gun clicking its denial. He curses and sits back against the table.

“Looks like ya need more.” He chuckles as he reloads. He turns his attention to you, eye-lights bright and flashing, like he lives for this.

“when it’s quiet, get outta here. the coppers’ll be here soon no doubt.” You nod and open your mouth to reply just as one of the men appears behind Sans. He doesn’t notice right away.

But you do.

You react, rational thought gone, muscles set firmly on the rails. You take both hands and aim straight over Sans’ head. His sockets darken and he whips around just as you shoot the man in the shoulder, making him stumble backwards and drop his gun. Sans scoops it up and aims it at his back as he runs away. The guy careens out the door just as Sans takes the shot, missing him by the barest of margins. Lucky bastard.

“damn it!”

You hear the man yell, “I know your face!” as he runs away. Your face, the face a dangerous mobster just ingrained into his memory, blanches and you look at Sans, who stares back at you, brow furrowed.

He barks out, anger in his voice, “l.d., get ‘im!” You hear footsteps race out the door.

Sans calls out, “paps? g.d.? grillby? ya good?”

Papyrus yells back, “Everyone is all right. They are terrible shots!”

You stand up, a bit shaky on your feet. You’ve never been in a real firefight before. You would rather not do it ever again. L.D. runs back in and over to Sans. Your heart jumps in your throat. His eyes are sorrowful as he shakes his head, whining.

Sans growls. “son of a bitch musta gotten picked up already.” He pats the dog’s head. “thanks for tryin’ l.d..”

He turns back to you, expression concerned, but more determined than anything.

“ya ok?”

You nod and put your pistol back in its holster.

He gives you a faint smile. “guess i should be thankin’ ya for that, huh?”

You brush off your suit and return his smile at the echoing of your words. “Well…. It couldn’t hurt this time.” He chuckles at that.

He moves close to you, rummaging in his pockets. He takes your hand and sticks something in it. You look down and flip it end over end. It looks like a business card.

“i’m sorry we couldn’t get the guy. call us if anything happens.” You look into his eyes, worried. Gangsters cut straight to the chase. You can expect anything to happen now. You don’t know how they’d find you with just a face, but you’re sure they’ll find a way. It would be stupid now to not ask for help. You set your jaw and nod. You all start as you hear sirens. He squeezes your hand before stepping away with his group.

“let’s scram.” They all run out. Grillby strides over to you.

“Are you ok?”

You nod and take in the damage. Glass, bullets, and bodies litter the floor. You grimace, instead focusing on him. “Are you? God, sorry about your place. I can come back to help clean up.”

He starts ushering you to the backdoor. “Don’t worry about it, they’ll compensate me. Just get home safe. Call me to check in, ok?”

You nod and step into the alleyway. Grillby watches you turn tail and run away, disappearing into the crowds. He shakes his head, extremely worried for you. You’re in deep now, whether you want to be or not.


	2. Black and Blue

Your feet pound on the sidewalk, pulse thundering in your ears. As soon as you think you’re far enough away from Grillby’s you slow down, trying to capture your breath through your dry lips. Various people throw you strange looks, but you pay them no mind. You’ve got bigger problems to deal with. You morbidly hope that you’ll be alive to actually deal with them.

You hurry to your apartment. It’s not terribly far from the bar, but enough that you keep looking over your shoulder, like someone will step right out of the shadows of the alleys you pass like some kind of murderous ghost to pump you full of lead. You step up to the front door, anxiety mounting as you open it and nearly run inside the complex. You take the flights two steps at a time, your shoes echoing in the stairwell, the clicks of your heels resonating far louder than what makes you comfortable. The commotion urges you to move faster. You finally get to your apartment on the fourth floor and fish out your keys, numb fingers almost dropping them several times.

“C’mon, _c’mon_.” You breathe a sigh of relief as you hear the lock turn. But a stab of fear causes you to pause. Yeah they may be outside, but for all you know they could be _in_ already. You have to be careful of everything now. You slowly push the door ajar and peek inside, holding your breath. You don’t hear any movement or see any signs of disturbance. You step in and begin making rounds through the apartment. It doesn’t take long because it’s so small.

Now that you know you’re safe for at least right now, you step quietly back outside and head to the phone box right down the hall. You must look off your nuts, sweating, eyes manic, checking over your shoulder every minute, but you don’t care as you dial Grillby. You wait and finally you connect.

“Hello? ___?” You hear his crackling voice and for some reason it eases a bit of your distress.

“Yeah, it’s me, G.”

“Thank goodness. Everything ok?” 

“Yeah, it’s just ducky,” you say a bit sarcastically.

“Listen, ___. You know they’re gonna show their mugs sometime right?”

“Yeah. Only a matter o’ time.”

“So when they do, you gotta get out. If you do, come here to the back door. Make sure you have what ya need packed up before then.” 

“Way ahead of ya. You sure you want me there? I got a big target on my back right now, G.”

You hear him sizzle a bit. “They won’t know where you’ve gone. Plus I got friends in places.”

A fond feeling washes over you. You’ll have to pay him back for this. “Thanks, G.”

“Take care of yourself.”

You laugh. “Since when do I not?”

He crackles in mirth. “Only all the time. Now get goin’.”

“See ya, G.” And you hope you do as you hang up.

You go back to the front door, closing and locking it tight behind you. You look around your place. It’s not exactly what you’d call beautiful, but it’s been your home for the past few years, and that’s enough for you. Your living room is directly in front of the door, with your bedroom on the left and kitchen on the right. Small pots of plants decorate the windows by the fire escape with some much needed greenery, and there’s some spare sheets littering the table and couch, but that’s about it. There’s nothing you’d want to save in the living room or kitchen. You don’t have much money and what you do have, you’ve spared on just a couple of very important things.

You walk to your bedroom and rummage in your closet for your bag. It’s aged to hell and back, but still trusty as ever. You throw some changes of clothes in there, neglecting the ritzy stuff for now. You won’t be needing those any more. You turn to your small rolltop and open it. You grab the extra ammo for your pistol, the switchblade you keep, and the brass knuckles Grillby gave you a while back and stuff it into the bag. But then your face softens as you pick up two objects with a slight reverence. One is a gold locket on a long chain. You slip it over your neck, tucking it under your shirt so it rests comfortably right over your heart. The other is a rectangular leather pouch about as long as your forearm and twice its width. Your fingers press into the worn leather, rolling around the three cylindrical tubes, making sure they’re all there before placing it gently into your bag.

With all of your things together, you open your bedroom window and shuffle out to the fire escape. You shut it tightly and move down one level, the rusted metal groaning its complaint. You’re not gonna leave just yet. You don’t know where these guys are hiding, and a gal with a bag is too suspicious in the daylight. You’ll wait until night and when you know where they are to split, even if it means staying in the same place for several days in a row. You lower yourself and lean back against the railing, closing your eyes to rest but not truly falling asleep. The sounds of the city are only slightly quieting as dusk falls. Light gives way to total shadow, now and then only interrupted and enhanced by the misty glow of neon signs.

Several hours later, the comforting hum of the night life is broken by the deafening growl of two cars pulling up outside your building. Your eyes shoot open and you turn to look, staying low and out of sight. Fear anchors itself in your bones, heavy and clotting, as you see eight men step out and move to the entrance of your building. For cryin’ out loud, eight men to take out one person? Seems like overkill, you think wryly.

Once you know they’re all inside, you move quickly, not wasting any time descending the fire escape. You try to make as little noise as possible. You don’t want to drop the ladder, it’ll clang and alert the goons. You grit your teeth as you climb over the railing, lowering yourself as close to the ground as possible. Your arms strain, fingers gripping the metal until the skin turns white from tension. You can’t believe you’re doing this. What have you gotten yourself into?

You drop.

You land and your legs give out in a heap, bag laying to the side of you. You sit for a moment just trying to collect yourself. You bite your knuckle to keep from making any noise. You stand up slowly and with great effort, making sure nothing is broken or sprained. You’re a lucky dog. Your heart is thumping in your chest, but it threatens to rip itself out, like this is its final warning to you, when you hear the gunshots rend apart your apartment. They’re inside.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

You secure your bag and immediately run in the opposite direction down the alley, sticking close to the walls for cover. You’ll just have to take the long way around to Grillby’s. Your legs and lungs are burning by the time you get there, sweat dripping down your face and plastering your hair. Even though it’s nighttime, the tall buildings block the breeze and the heat is still oppressive. You turn and make sure you’re not being tailed as you approach the back door and knock. You hear movement and Grillby throws it open, pulling you inside quickly. He gives you a warm, fierce hug and you return it, trying to catch your breath. He pulls back and looks you over, fingers hot on your arms.

“Ya look like shit.”

You laugh and punch him, throwing your hair over your shoulder. “I dunno. I think being hunted by mobsters really helps my complexion.”

“Glad to see you’ve still got your ‘magnetic personality’ after all this.” He makes air quotes, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“It’s the only thing I got, G.” He chuckles as he motions upstairs. You catch a glimpse of the front. It’s still a mess, but the bodies are gone and it looks like Grillby attempted some cleaning. You follow him up to his place. Once you’re both inside, he locks the door. Grillby does pretty well for himself so his place is much bigger than yours. It helps that people pay a lot of dough to get top notch liquor. Bootleggin’ pays bills apparently. Grillby moves to his kitchen and fills a glass of water for you, setting it on the table. He’s dressed more casually now, plain white shirt and slacks.

“Make yourself at home.”

You drop your bag on the floor by the couch and slump into a chair by the table. You bring the glass up to your lips and gulp it down. That’s sweet. All that running left you mighty thirsty.

“Thanks again, G. I owe ya big.” He shakes his head and sits down at the table with you.

“Nah, I figure you’re payin’ enough with the mob on your tail.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” You pull out the business card from your pocket and lay it flat on the table. It stares up at you, silent, waiting to be used or discarded. This dice game is rigged though. You can’t win, because whatever you do, there’s gonna be consequences that you’ll have to pay for with your life, whether through death or service. The card ain't picky.

“What’s that?” Grillby asks, leaning forward.

“Sans gave it to me. Said I should call if anything happens.”

Grillby crosses his arms in front of his chest, flames flickering in agitation. “Shoulda just let ya be. Tried to warn ‘im off.”

You shrug. “Ya did what you could. Can’t exactly say _no_ can we?” He crackles in reluctant agreement. You’re quiet a moment as you think. You can’t go back to your place. The thugs’ll be waiting for you until they find you. And you don’t have any family; Grillby being the closest thing to a family you’ve got, with your parents gone. Your hand gently presses the locket.

“Should I call them?”

Grillby rubs his chin and stares at the card. “I don’t see what other choice you have. You can’t go back home now, that’s for damn sure. And as much as I like ya, you can’t hide here forever either. Eventually Sans’ll come snoopin’ around too.”

You nod. “That’s fair. Can’t exactly ask to move in and live with your smoky ass.” You smile and wink at him.

He rolls his eyes, but laughs too. “I’ll have ya know, sweetheart, that my ass is on fire, thank ya kindly.”

He eventually gets up from the table. “Well, phone’s right over there if ya decide to call. I’ll get you stuff for sleepin’.”

“Thanks, G,” you say as he leaves the room. 

You rise from the chair, feeling like a thousand pounds, and walk over to the phone, taking the card with you. It’s blank except for a number. You exhale, trying to get rid of your nerves.

“Now or never, ___.” You dial and wait while it rings. When it picks up, you jump.

A familiar voice drawls, “eeee-yello?”

“Sans?”

You hear movement on the line. “well look who it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter! Super excited for this story. Hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> I also have a tumblr if you wanna check that out too:
> 
> http://ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com/
> 
> Stay swell!


	3. Farewell Blues

“i bet this ain’t a house call is it, sugar?” You roll your eyes.

“You wish. Something happened.”

He chuckles. “not surprised. didn't think they'd find ya so fast though. not exactly the sharpest tacks.”

“Well, what they lack in smarts, they make up for in numbers. There were eight of 'em.”

He whistles. “geez, kid. your pistol musta really packed a punch.”

“Apparently not big enough of one.”

You hear some more shuffling and loud snickering in the background. You wonder briefly where his phone is. “so where ya holein’ up?”

You pause for a moment. You don’t necessarily want to say exactly where you are. So you decide to give him the next best thing. Hopefully it doesn’t come back to bite you, or G. “Around Grillby’s. Figure they wouldn’t come back here to check.”

“good move. i’m comin’ by tomorrow so be ready.” Your mind is racing with questions, but you hold yourself back from asking. You’ll find out soon enough.

“Alright.”

“see ya, kid.” You both hang up. When you turn around, you find Grillby listening while setting up the couch.

“Sans is comin’ by tomorrow.” He nods as he finishes unfolding the sheets.

“He usually does if something goes down. He’ll bring word on reimbursement too.” The ruined bar comes back to the forefront of your thoughts, the shattered glass, overturned tables.

“Hope they’re good for it.”

He shrugs. “They usually are. Can’t very well leave one of their biggest distributors out of business for long can they?” You hum and sit down on the couch, looking up at Grillby.

“I’ll act like I just showed up so you’re not brought into it.” He nods his thanks, flames dancing.

“Night, ___.”

“Night, G.” He turns off the lights and disappears into his bedroom. You lay back, exhausted from the day’s events. Who knew your life would turn upside down so quickly. And all you were worried about earlier was work and taxi drivers. You close your eyes and pass out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’re shaken awake early the next morning by Grillby. You shoot up from the couch despite your sore muscles screaming in protest, expecting men to come filing into the place, guns blazing.

He throws his hands up, startled. “Hey, woah there! It’s fine. Ya just need to wake up. Sans’ll be here soon.”

You exhale heavily, grabbing the front of your shirt to try to calm your heartbeat. “Geez, what a way to wake up, G. Thanks I guess.”

He chuckles as you move to your bag and pull out a change of clothes.

“Got a place I can change?”

He jerks his thumb to the bathroom. You change as fast as you can into some clean loose pants, shirt and vest, and splash some water on your face, trying to look at least some sort of presentable. You step out and gather the rest of your things in your bag.

Grillby is almost out of the door when he says, “Let’s go wait in the bar.”

You nod and follow him downstairs. As you step into the front room, you grimace. It’s still a mess, like a tornado swept in and had a few too many during its stay. Bullet holes mark the tables and walls, and glass and wood chips are strewn over the floor. Your shoes scuff along, catching stray debris as you lift yourself up onto a stool. Grillby looks around the place, flames dimming as he sports a somber expression.  His hands are in his pockets, looking for all the world like a man who’s lost something precious to him. You reckon he kind of has. You reach out and squeeze his arm, flames licking your fingers.

“It’ll get fixed, G.”

One side of his face lifts in an effort at a smile when he looks to you. “Yeah, I know.” He turns his head suddenly as you both hear knocks on the back door. “Stay here,” he says as he leaves to go into the back. A moment later, he walks back in with a lazily grinning Sans in tow. His hands are tucked into his pockets and he looks far more casual today; no jacket and his sleeves are rolled up to reveal the long, hard bones of his forearms. He pushes up the brim of his hat to get a good look at you.

“ya know, for bein’ chased by the mob, ya still look pretty good.”

You cross your legs. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were keen on me.”

Sans’ grin widens, eyes gleaming in the hazy morning light.

Grillby huffs and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “And I’d say get a room, but you destroyed it. How’s that gonna work by the way?” Sans chuckles and shifts his attention to Grillby.

“boss is willin’ to pay for damages.” He looks over to you. “hey sweetheart, would ya be so kind as to give me and grillby here some privacy while we talk business?”

You slink off the stool and stride past them both into the backroom. You stick your hands in your pockets and lean against the wall, not particularly listening in on the murmurs from the front. You assume they have a safehouse, or headquarters of some kind. But what will you do once you get there? Is this your life now? Are you gonna be stuck under another mob boss’ thumb for the rest of your life? Is it possible for this to even blow over? You press the back of your head into the wall as if you could make the anxiety leave with brute force alone. From the frying pan into the fire.

“You can come back out, ___,” Grillby’s voice calls.

Sans and Grillby watch you walk back in and sling your bag over your shoulder. Sans claps his hands together with a dull clack, grin broad across his face.

“welp, my business here is done. time to get a move on. ya ready?”

You are, but say, “Lemme just say bye.” Sans nods and you hug Grillby tightly. He hugs you back, flames flickering and warm on your face.

“Stay safe.”

“You too.”

You pull away, smiling in hopes to raise his spirits as much as your own. “I’ll be back, ‘magnetic personality’ remember?” He laughs and ruffles your hair before stepping back, clearing his throat with a smoky puff and saying, “I’ll be expectin’ ya.”

You turn to Sans and he’s holding his hand out to you. You look at it with only _a bit_ of suspicion. He smirks. “if you’re worried about the buzzer, i don’t have it today. but i got a way of travelin’ fast. comes in _handy_.” He wiggles his fingers. “so ya comin’ or goin’?”

Your lips lift into a small smile and you take his hand. His fingers wrap around yours, rough and tough. “Guess I could lend ya a hand.”

He chuckles and pulls you closer. “ok. now don’t freak out, we’re gonna fall and it’ll feel weird. if ya gotta upchuck, just do it away from the goods.” The bleached bones of his hand smooth the front of his vest.

You start to get a little more nervous, the mystery increasing your anxiety. You glance around and chuckle weakly. “I’ll make sure to aim right for ya.”

He laughs and you see his right pupil disappear. But his left grows and bursts into flame. Your hand tightens on his as your eyes widen. He looks to you and grins.

“don’t let go.”

And you both fall. You’re nowhere, the depth of nonexistence crushing you. The silence seems to fill the world and empty it all at the same time. It takes the air from your lungs for a split second before you finally land on solid ground again. You gasp, trying to catch your breath and after a moment it comes to you. Air fills your lungs and clears the encroaching fuzziness from your head. You’re still holding onto Sans’ hand and when you open your eyes, you find him staring at you, eye-sockets creased in worry. But when he sees that you’re fine, the worry is replaced by relief and maybe faint admiration. You give him the ok sign as you take your hand from his.

“I’d ask what the hell that was, but you’d just answer with magic, right?” Sans laughs and nods, shoving his hands back in his pockets.

You look around, noticing that you’re in a darkened hallway. The walls are painted a deep crimson and wooden panels line the bottom half of them. You catch the sounds of laughter and hollering and the clinking of glasses down the hall.

“Where are we?”

“wouldn’t ya like to know.”

You raise your eyebrow at him. “Obviously.”

He smiles at you again, secrets kept safely behind that toothy grin. “it’s where you’ll be staying in the meantime.” He motions for you to follow him down the opposite end of the hall, away from the noise. “gotta take ya to the boss first.”

Your nerves pick back up, but you try to stay calm. You’ve faced death pretty often in the past day and a half. And several times even before that. What’s one more time, right? You trail after Sans through a maze of hallways and doors. You try your best to memorize the path; it could come in handy later. You finally stop before a set of nice wooden double doors flanked by a couple of tough looking guards. One holds up their hand and moves to grab your bag. When you pull away, they rip it from your hands. Your anger flares along with your concern for the objects inside.

“Hey! Be careful with that!” The other moves to start patting you down, and you brace yourself if your bag is any indication.

But Sans steps in front of you and holds up his hands, smiling. The guards back off at the sight of him. “woah fellas, don’t rough ‘em up. i’ll take care of it.” He turns to you, smile only slightly apologetic. “just gonna check ya for weapons.”

You nod as his hands come up to your shoulders, pressing into your clothes and skin. He’s very close. When his clothes rustle, you catch the scent of pine and some kind of cologne. It washes over you like a hot, summer wind. He moves to your waist and then down your hips until he gets to your thigh. He stops as he feels the gun strapped to your right thigh. He looks up and grins mischievously.

“is that a gun in your pocket, or ya just happy to see me?”

You laugh, smirking down at him. “If it were both, would ya call me trigger-happy?”

Sans laughs, the chuckles resonating deep in his chest. “good one,” he says as he sticks his hand in your pocket, through the hole. His fingers graze the skin of your thigh as he pulls the pistol out of its holster. He places it around his back under his belt. “i’ll keep it safe for ya.”

You nod and finally get a good look at the door. Some kind of symbol is carved into the face; wings flanking a circle and three triangles underneath. You continue to stare until Sans knocks, knuckles rapping out a specific pattern. You hear a faint response and Sans opens the door.

You step inside onto a plush, oriental rug. The room is large and well-furnished, light streaming in from the bay windows. Your eyes take in the surroundings until they rest on a tall, thin figure sitting behind a large desk with papers and various machines scattered across it. Behind him are filing cabinets, phone boxes, and other technology you don’t recognize.

The monster himself looks vaguely like Sans and that other skeleton. Except he has two long cracks on his face, one stretching from the bottom of his left socket and the other from the top of his right to the back of his head. They split his white face into two frightening complements of each other. His pupils look you up and down. His long white hands extend from a body dressed in a dark three-piece suit with purple shirt and tie. Sans moves off to the side, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

When the monster speaks, it sends a small shudder through you. While Sans and other monsters you’ve met sound fairly normal, this one is anything but. His voice is raspy but deep and crinkles around the edges, lending itself an unstable quality. If Sans’ voice is like a rumbling steamer, his is like when those tons of steel screech in an effort to stop some terrible, wayward journey. It sets your teeth on edge.

**“Welcome ___. Please sit.”** He motions to the chair in front of his desk. You do, but don’t relax. Nothing about this situation tells you to take a load off.

“Well, you know my name. Can I ask yours?”

One corner of his mouth lifts into a smile. **“Indeed. It seems only fair. I am Gaster. But please call me W.D.”**  

You nod. W.D. Gaster. You respond, “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” but with an undertone that says you don’t trust him yet and, in all reality, are not entirely pleased to make his acquaintance.

**“Charmed. Now. May I inquire as to the reason you are here?”**

You glance over at Sans. He’s unreadable. You would’ve thought Gaster would know what’s going on. “Had a run in with some of your enemies.”

Gaster leans forward, folding his long hands and pointing to you. **“Yes, I realize that. But I do not see how that is _my_ problem. As far as I’m concerned, I should just hand you over to them and put this to rest.”**

Your blood leaves your face and you turn again to Sans, worried. His eyes are wide as they flick between you and Gaster. He shoves off the wall with a newly plastered on smile, gesturing to you.

“hey w.d., cut the gal a break. they saved my life, i owe ‘em. ya gonna make me a liar, here?”

Gaster’s eyes glance at Sans briefly before he leans back in his chair, hands steepled in front of his face. **“What do you suggest then, Sans?”**

He shifts his weight, lazy smile on his face. “keep ‘em safe, let ‘em stay here. they can earn their keep.”

Gaster is quiet a moment. The silence eats at you. You’re too aware of the sweat dripping down your temple as you wait. He gets up from his chair suddenly and you really get the sense of his height now. It’s intimidating. He’s literally heads and shoulders above you and Sans, thin as a steel rail and just as unforgiving. He walks to his file cabinets and pulls out a folder.

**“Soft spot for this one, eh, Sans?”**

Sans chuckles and shrugs, winking at you. “it’s hard to find a good audience for my jokes.” You give a half-hearted smile, heart still hammering in your chest. You’re not in the clear yet.

**“Well you should be aware, ___, that I know many things about nearly everyone, including you. It says here you’re an entertainer, yes?”** His long finger slides down the open page with all the eagerness of a pair of reunited lovers. You nod, suspicious again.

**“Then that is how you should ‘earn your keep,’ as it were. Entertain or do whatever Mettaton needs you to do. Does that sound agreeable?”**

You wonder who the hell Mettaton is, even though the name kind of sounds familiar, but shove the thought away for now. You exhale and respond a little more sarcastic than you should, “Between the many options of death and more death, I think I’ll stick with your offer.”

Gaster smiles slightly and raises his brow. **“Saucy. You would do well to watch that pretty mouth of yours one of these days.”** He looks to Sans. **“Make sure they stay out of trouble. Your favor, your responsibility. You’ve got a handful.”** He throws you a sidelong glance, pupils burning as they look you over.

Sans chuckles and tips his hat. “thanks w.d. c’mon.” He motions for you to stand as Gaster turns back to his cabinets. You’re just outside the door when Gaster’s voice echoes from the room.

**“Oh, and ___? I’ll be watching.”**

The door shuts behind you both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Gaster.
> 
> Or, rather, G(ASS)ter, amirite?
> 
> Enjoy! Sorry if the updates are a little slow. School and getting distracted are recipes for creative disaster. But thank you all for the great comments and the kudos and everything! <3
> 
> Tumblr: http://ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com/


	4. Caravan

You exhale your relief and turn to the guard with your bag. He smirks at you, his smile dubious as it plows furrows across his dirty face. “Welcome to the club.”

You grimace, unsure of his intent as you take your bag back. “Thanks. I guess.”

Sans motions for you to follow him up a flight of stairs. You tug on his sleeve and he stops in the stairwell, turning to you with a question on his face.

“Thanks for savin’ my skin.”

His smile softens and he winks. “don’t mention it. ya saved mine, even though i don’t have any. we’re even.”

You both continue moving, but he talks over his shoulder, low voice sending rumbling echoes off the dimly lit scarlet walls. “try to stay out of trouble though. you do gotta mouth on ya,” he shoots you a glance, “no matter how funny or pretty it is. w.d. is a bit rough around the edges, but he’s right. it could get ya in trouble. ‘specially in this world.”

You’re quiet as you listen to him. His words weigh heavy in the still air. You respond, “I’ll try not to make trouble for ya.”

“you’ll be ok. ‘preciate it though.”

“So is Gaster the kingpin?”

Sans bursts into laughter, his deep guffaws bouncing down the hallway while he clutches his front. “he wishes. naw, w.d.’s intelligence, but he does take care of a lot down here.”

You chuckle a little at his outburst. “Well, you’re gonna have to get me on the up and up.”

“don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of things. i’ll help ya out.”

He eventually stops at a door. The wood seems beaten to hell and the paint is coming off in thick chips, but when he opens it, it swings with a laboring weight. Its shoddy looks are deceiving; it's sturdier than it seems. That eases your anxiety. He extends an arm out in invitation. “after you.”

You raise your eyebrow as you walk past his smirking face. “A gangster _and_ a gentleman. How’d I get so lucky?”

He shrugs and laughs. “them’s the cards.”

You look around the place. The air is stifling, thick with heat and dust. It’s bare except for a made-up bed, a desk, a closet, and an adjoining bathroom. You sigh. At least there’s a window. Even if it does have bars on it. Welcome to the Crossbar Hotel, enjoy your stay for life.

“ain’t much, but i’m sure ya can make it work.”

You turn to him and give him a small smile. “Thanks. Better than nothin’.”

He walks around the room, eye-lights scanning the furniture, hands in pockets. His shoes scuff along the wooden floor, the deadened sounds falling flat in the quiet space. “food’s downstairs. mettaton’ll make sure you’re fed and clothed well.” 

“Been meanin’ to ask. Who is this Mettaton guy? I feel like I’ve heard about him somewhere.”

“would be surprised if ya didn’t. big name in the entertainin’ biz.”

“Anything I should know about him first?”

“nah. bit of a high hat, and i tolerate ‘im, but he’s harmless. he’ll love ya.”

You place your bag on top of your bed. It responds with a disgruntled creak, as if it's astonished you would even think to use it for its purpose. Sans comes up to you and pulls out your gun from his belt. You reach out to take it, but he pulls it back; a smile on his face but a fierce warning flashing in his eyes.

“now i’m gonna give this back to ya, but don’t even _think_ about usin’ it on the fam. strictly emergencies. got it?”

You nod, serious. He plops it into your open hand and you stick it through your pocket and back into its holster. It feels just a bit heavier now and you’re all too aware of its cold presence against your thigh.

“good. c’mon, now i gotta introduce you to mettaton and get ya set up.” You follow Sans back out of the room and he hands you a key. “just in case. seems like ya had some stuff ya wanna keep safe.” You snatch the old key up and nod vigorously, turning and locking the door. Sans leads you back downstairs to the hallway you arrived in.

“Do you live here too?”

Sans nods. “floor above yours. bit ritzier than what you got, but that comes with the gig.”

As you approach the opposite end of the hall, the muffled noise grows as well as your curiosity. He places his bony hand on the knob and turns it, opening the door to a wild atmosphere. A wall of sound and revelry assaults your senses. Waiters and waitresses distribute drinks to tables of men, women, and monsters alike. All of the booths and tables face a large stage where there’s a band and dancers performing. The pungent smells of alcohol and smoke permeate the darkness, broken only by the harsh golden lights illuminating the stage and the soft glow of candles dotting the tables. The hues of black and pink, velvet and wood paint the shadows underneath, decorating the large parlor. If you had to use a word for it, it would be ostentatious.

Sans looks at your shocked face, amused. “it’s a bit much, huh? everyone eats it up though.”

You lean over to him as a waitress walks by, expertly balancing a tray full of liquor. “Or drinks it up.” Sans chuckles at that.

You stick close beside him, trying not to get lost in the crowd. You whisper to him, “How have the cops not busted this joint?”

“you’d be surprised what money can buy.”

He glances back and notices you trying to navigate the throng with not much success, so he takes your arm and wraps it around his. The crowd splits around the two of you like the Red Sea. You smile wryly at him. “Thanks.” He winks at you.

He eventually leads you over to the back of the house, where a tall shapely figure stands in a fabulous pink pantsuit. But he gleams in the dim light. Is he made of metal? He turns as he notices you and Sans approach, throwing out his arms, metallic voice ringing out, “Oh Sans, _so_ good to see you! How are you, darling? And just _who_ is this lovely vision?” 

Sans’ smile is strained as he tips his hat to him. “mettaton. this is ___. ___, mettaton.”

You unwind your arm from Sans’ and hold out your hand to Mettaton, smiling. “It’s an honor.” It’s not really. Not yet at least, but he’s endearing so far and you gotta play your cards right if he’s your new employer.

“So kind of you. It’s a pleasure,” he says as he takes your hand and shakes it delicately.

Sans speaks up, “w.d. assigned ‘em here as a favor for me. make sure they’re treated well, m.”

Mettaton perks up, intrigued. His eye narrows as he looks from you to Sans, eyebrow raised, coy smile lifting his frankly beautiful lips. He purrs, “Oh… I see. I shall keep them safe and sound _for you_ , Sans.” Sans can’t help but roll his eyes.

Mettaton curls his arm around your shoulder and shoos away Sans. “Thank you, Sans. If you’ll excuse us, ___ and I have much to discuss. I’ll keep you up-to-date.”

Sans nods but grabs your arm suddenly, moving close to whisper in your ear. His fingers dig into your arm, a strange mix of comfort and caution. “keep on your toes. call me if ya need anything.” He lets you go, stepping back and tipping his hat before disappearing into the crowd.

Mettaton harrumphs and purses his lips as he looks after Sans. His silvery voice holds the barest hint of disdain as he says, “You would make a cute couple. But I’m sure you’re too good for him.” You burst into laughter. You were not expecting that from him.

He smiles down at you. “Your laugh is wonderful, darling. Now, come. We actually do have much to discuss.”

He leads you to a secluded booth where it’s a bit quieter. You slide in across from him. He pulls out a case, and takes out a cigarette, placing it in a long, slender holder. He lights it and offers one to you. You shake your head. You don’t mind it, but it makes your job a lot harder if you do. He takes a long pull from it before speaking.

“So W.D. sent you here, did he?” You nod. “Surely not _just_ as a favor to Sans.”

“Not entirely. Saved Sans in a fight, and he saved mine when W.D. threatened to give me to the guys chasin’ me.” Mettaton’s eyebrow raises again as he looks you over.

“No wonder. W.D. doesn’t really _do_ favors. And to be honest, you look like you’ve been through hell, darling.” He throws you a sympathetic smile.

“I dunno, I think I look alright for goin’ through hell. All that running should do somethin’ for my figure.” Mettaton chuckles and leans toward you.

“But _I_ am going to make you look _fabulous_. Now tell me what you can offer. Have you entertained before?”

You nod. “Sing, dance, wait tables, whatever.” Mettaton’s eye flashes and his smile grows.

“Wonderful! I’ll shuffle some things around and fit you in.” He looks off to the stage as he muses out loud, taking drags from his cigarette. “You’ll need a wardrobe, a makeover, need to meet the band….”

You watch him and sit back. All of this is so overwhelming. The adrenaline from the past couple of days is leaving your system and you start to feel everything that’s happened. Mettaton looks over to your tired form. Poor thing must be exhausted.

“Sleep in tomorrow and take some time for yourself. Can’t very well have you tired for your first day of work. I’ll make sure to have things set up for you.” He throws his arms out, laugh tinkling. “Then we’ll _entertain!_ ”

You smile as he gets up and helps you out of the booth. “Thank you, Mettaton.” 

“Don’t mention it, my dear.” He says as he escorts you to the door. “You know where to find me if you need anything. Get some beauty rest.” He kisses your hand and waves you away with a flourish. The door shuts with a resounding finality, cutting off the noise of the parlor.

You exhale and make your way back up to your room, footsteps heavy. When you arrive, you unlock the door and step inside. You’re happy to see your stuff is where you left it. But as you move farther inside, you notice a pile of things on your bed. You sort through it. It seems like basic needs; a towel, soap, things of that sort. The only person you know of who has, or had, a key is Sans. You guess he might have used his magic travel to get inside. Your suspicions are confirmed when you find a blank business card with the same number on it. You hold the card as you crawl into your bed. You’re too tired to think anymore. You curl into a ball and fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter! Hope you enjoy, everyone. Mettaton was a hoot and a half to write.
> 
> Thanks again for all your comments and kudos, sweethearts.
> 
> TUMBLLLLL: http://ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com/


	5. Tea for Two

The sunlight filters into your room, metal bars harshly cutting into the misty yellow glow. You open your eyes, forgetting for a moment where you are. You clear the sleep from your eyes and the unfamiliar surroundings soon become familiar, but not without a faint feeling of disappointment piercing your heart. You hadn’t moved all night and your muscles are sore and cramped from your hasty exit from society. You swing your legs over the side and stretch, body and joints groaning from misuse in miserable unison with your mattress. Your feet touch the unforgiving wooden floor as you stand, and you decide you really shouldn’t do anything today until you take a much-needed shower.

You grab the towel and soap and head into the bathroom. You turn the water on and step in, getting rid of the grime and dust and sweat from your body and hair. It feels wonderful. _Almost_ like you’re washing away the more dramatic events of the past couple days. When you’re finished you step back out and dry yourself off, hanging the towel and walking back out into your room for your clothes. You get dressed into another pair of loose pants, cream in color, with a loose black shirt and matching cream vest. You pin up your wet hair. You can’t do much with it right now, having left nearly everything back in your apartment. Your face falls as that sharp longing settles in. It’s still raw; new and exposed to hard reality. It sneers, _Get used to it, dollface. These are some mighty fine digs. Think I might stick around a while._

You’re brought back by a distinct awareness of the clawing emptiness of your stomach as it growls at you like a starved animal. Food has to be the next thing. Sans said that food is downstairs and you’re assuming the parlor. You make sure you have his business card and your key before stepping out. You wander the lonely hallways, passing only a couple of monsters and humans as you descend. You approach the door to the parlor but it seems quiet. Or at least quieter. Maybe they haven’t opened yet. The sun outside your bedroom window looked like it was around noon, so that would make sense. Unless some deadbeats are hitting the gin early. Lord knows you’ve seen enough of those.

You open the door and see some monsters and humans walking around, but they look like staff. Walking in farther, you scan the room and spot a bar in the back. As you walk up, you notice a ginger-colored cat monster behind the bar polishing glasses with all of the enthusiasm of a drunk waking up the next morning. You slide onto one of the stools.

“Heya.”

He turns to you, ears twitching and bright, slitted pupils narrowing, almost surprised that someone is here and talking to him. “Haven’t seen you around before.”

You stick out your hand over the bar and smile at him. “The name’s ___. You haven’t seen me around because I haven’t been around.”

His eyes look down at your hand, suspicious of intent, but he grabs it with his paw nonetheless. You give it a good, hard shake, hoping to smooth out his ruffles a bit. He glances up at you and one corner of his mouth lifts in a smile, canine poking over his lip.

“Burgerpants. B.P. for short.”

“Nice to meet ya, B.P.”

He lets go of your hand and goes back to polishing glasses. “So you’re the new meat M was talkin’ about, huh?”

You shrug, winking. “That’s me. Grade A. Or _at least_ a B.”

He laughs and you lean a little closer, asking, “Speakin’ of meat, where could a gal get some grub around here?”

“We got some sandwiches in the back. Could grab one for ya if ya want.”

“That’d be swell. Thanks, B.P.” He leaves and comes back with a sandwich for you, which you dig into.

“This ain’t bad.”

B.P. replies, “Nah. Folks ‘round here come more for the drinks than the food though.” You nod as you chew. Maybe now is a good time to root around for some information. B.P. seems like he’s disenchanted enough to be truthful about the place.

“Ya like workin’ here?”

He raises his brow and snorts. “Eh. Feel like I’m wastin’ my life. But hey, job’s a job right?”

“I guess so.”

You’re about to ask another question when a group of men, women, and a monster or two walk by the bar. They’re raucous and laughing, seeming as though they’ve hit the gin a bit early themselves. You watch them, curious. One of the men looks over at you and B.P. and splits off from the group. He waves back and yells, “Don’t wait up!”

He strides over to the bar and claps B.P. on the shoulder, giving him a friendly nod. “Heya, cool cat.” He turns to you and all but slouches against the counter, smiling to high heaven, his white teeth stark against the dark of his skin. The guy is tall, lanky, and has an ease about him, like he’s been around the block a few times. That ease winds its way into you as smoothly as a fine whiskey.

“Welcome. What’s ya name?”

You can’t help but smile back at him, his raspy voice and lilting inflection catching your attention. “___. What about you?”

He sticks his hand out and you take it, his long fingers wrapping strong around yours. “The name’s Nick. Though everyone calls me Sway.”

You laugh at the nickname. You’ll have to ask him about it sometime. Though you often like to figure it out yourself. “Well it’s a pleasure to meet ya, Sway.”

“Mighty fine meetin’ you as well, ___.” He moves closer and pokes your shoulder. “Now tell me. You the new gal M was talkin’ up last night?”

“I figure, as long as no one else showed up while I was sleepin’.”

He claps his hands together in excitement, smile growing even larger. “Swell, jus’ swell. We’re gonna be workin’ together a lot, you and I.”

You prop your chin under your arm on the bar. “That so?”

“Mhmm.” He points his hand to the stage. “I play that beautiful baby right up yonder,” he says as he winks at you, “I’ll introduce ya.”

You follow his hand to a shining, ebony baby grand piano sitting understated, yet, at the same time, magnificently on the side of the stage. It looks right at home, knowing its place and that it has always belonged there. It’s hard to confuse a piano like that. It’s also hard to miss those gold letters and harp motif.

“Is that a Steinway?”

He nods, pleased. “Ya know your instruments.”

“Certainly no stranger. I’d love to see what you can do.”

“I think she’d give ya a run for your money, b’cause ooh baby, can I make her _sing_.” You bust into a full-bellied laugh and Sway joins you.

“Lookin’ forward to it, Sway.”

“Me too,” he says as he stands back up. “Holler at me if ya need anythin’. I’ll be seein’ ya later!” He waves at you and walks back after his group. You stare after him a bit once he’s gone, lips pursed in thought.

B.P. speaks up, “You don’t gotta worry about him. He’s one of the ones you can trust ‘round here.”

You nod your head idly as you respond, “Yeah…. Are there ones I shouldn’t?” You glance over at him.

He leans a bit more on the counter as he polishes, trying to look nonchalant as he quietly says, “Well, I’d say just about everyone. Regulars can be just as bad as the biz.”

You chuckle. “And where do you fall in?”

He shrugs and flashes you a toothy grin. “I’d tell ya you can trust me, but that’s exactly what a liar might say, yeah?” You nod and laugh.

“I’ll take a risk.”

“Suit yourself, buddy. But between you and me, if ya want straight shooters, Sway and some o’ the guys on the lower rung are your best bet.”

Now you’re getting some answers. You prod a bit more. You need to know because your life could depend on it. “And where does Sans fit?”

He looks up, a little surprised. “Sans? Talks the talk and walks the walk as far as I’m concerned. Good guy to have in your corner. His brother too.” You nod again, silent, absorbing. Good news.

But you’re surprised when he turns and looks you straight in the eye, voice hushed. “But just be careful and keep your cards close to your chest. I’d be wary of anyone who works directly for the man.”

You nod, face set in resolve. He’s right. You’ve been drafted into a game blindfolded where the rules are on a need-to-know basis only. If you’re not _in_ , you’re out. The best place to start would be with those who are at least out with you.

“Thanks B.P. I’ll keep it in mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are random and there's no order! Chaos and entropy reign! Art is a lie, nothing is real!
> 
> But really, sorry if the weird schedule throws people off. I'll try to stay more consistent. These are easier to get out because of their shorter length. I hope you enjoy all the same. <3
> 
> Come have a drink with me: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	6. Oh, Lady Be Good

It’s not long after you’ve finished your food when Mettaton struts through the parlor, the tassles of his dress shimmering and dancing with every step. He weaves in between the tables with such a grace that you believe he could do it blind. As soon as he catches sight of you, he strides over and gives you a quick peck on the cheek, flashing his pearly-whites at both you and B.P. B.P.’s ears twitch and swivel back as he all but bares his teeth in the poorest excuse for a smile you’ve seen yet. There’s no question there’s a history there and you take a sip of your drink, wanting to stay the hell away from that one.

Mettaton picks at your clothes and hair as he says, “How did you sleep? Well I hope? You do look more rested today.”

You nod and respond, “I did, thanks." 

He folds his hands, one over the other, and his unobscured eye glints with excitement. “Wonderful to hear. I do have some things I’d like to do with you today in preparation for tomorrow night.” Your eyebrows raise in question as you wait for him to finish.

“We need to fix you up. Makeover, wardrobe, the band, the works. Our regular shows are starting to get a bit…,” he waves his hand around, “dull. We need to _spice_ things up. Entertain for god’s sakes!” His finger rests on your chest. “And _you’re_ going to help me.”

You smile, though a bit forced. You’ve danced before, sure, and you’re pretty good at singing, double sure. But you wonder if you’re what he’s looking for.

“I’ll try my best?”

His arm wraps around your shoulders, ushering you away from the bar. His smile is dazzling as he says, “Of course you will, darling. You’ll be fantastic, I have no doubt!”

Mettaton doesn’t even turn to look back as he calls to B.P. over his shoulder, “Ta-ta Burgerpants, make sure to be a dear and polish _all_ those glasses.”

You turn your head to look back at B.P., shooting him a sympathetic smile and small wave. His forced smile is gone, replaced by a look of disdain and slight dismay for you as he waves back.

Mettaton leads you towards the stage, ushering you into the back where all the dressing rooms are and talking as he goes.

“You’ll come back here for all of your wardrobe needs. Don’t hesitate to ask. We’ll get you started on a makeover first.”

“How come you’re starting me off with singin’ right away? You’re bound to have some better performers, right?”

He chuckles, a dainty noise escaping his mouth. “I don’t know if they’re better, that’s why I want to find out, darling. We learn by doing, here. Plus, I can tell when I’ve got a star. A veritable diamond in the rough, my dear.”

You don’t respond and Mettaton doesn’t expect you to as he leads you to a group of people. He stands back and extends his arms out in a grand sweeping gesture.

“Here is the new hire! Now, your job is to make them _look_ the part so they can _act_ the part.” The group is a smattering of monsters, men, and women, who all flutter about you, crowding around to look you over. They lead you off, Mettaton clapping and following, his heels clicking on the hardwood.

Just peachy.

Several _hours_ later, you’re finally out of the picky hands of Mettaton and his gaggle. You hope makeovers last a lifetime, because there’s no way you’re doing that again. You try not to hate it too much though. It’s not every day you’re taken care of, and you do appreciate their work. You’re just not used to it. As you look in the sleek face of the mirror, you’re also not used to the visage that looks back at you. They look just as confused as to what they’re looking at as you are. You don’t have a lot of makeup on, but your hair is soft, polished and styled. It’s you…but it’s _not_ you. A more enhanced you, you guess. Whoever it is, you concede that they do look pretty great.

Mettaton appears over your shoulder, hands clasped in front of his face and eye glittering brightly in victory.

“Yes, yes, _yes_. Perfect. This’ll do nicely, I can see it now. Clothes will come later. Now you must meet the band.”

He leads you over to another part of the stage, where a group is practicing music. Trombones, trumpets, and saxophones weave bawdy melodies together and it lights up your face. Music always does. You notice Sway standing next to them, hands moving silently but deftly on his thighs as he hears the chords in his head. His eyes are closed, head bobbing, smiling and biting his lip when he hits one _just_ right. He looks up when he notices Mettaton and you walking over. A wide smile splits his face and he stands up.

“Heya! _Wow_ , look at this. _Look. At. This_. This your doin’, M?” Sway says as he lifts up part of your hair, teasing you and making you laugh.

“Why, yes, Sway. Though I only uncovered what was already there,” Mettaton laughs, squeezing your shoulder.

“Mhmm,” Sway hums as he gives you a wink. “Maybe you should do my hair next, M. I’m free all week.” He pretends to flip his nonexistent hair back over his shoulder and you can’t help but laugh with the other guys behind him. He turns back to you, winking.

“Well ya look mighty fine, ___.”

Mettaton asks, “Oh so you two have met already?”

You nod, placing your hand on your hip and saying, “Yeah I met him earlier today. Says he can make that sweet piano over there sing. Thinks he’s gonna give me a run for my money.”

The group behind Sway hoots and hollers and he grins, clapping his hands.

“Well, what ya say then? Wanna get to know each other?” You nod and laugh, excitement running through you.

Sway lifts his arms to the guys behind him as he says, “Well, c’mon boys, let’s show ‘em what we got!” Everyone goes around the piano and Sway strides over, settling in front of the polished, ivory keys.

He looks to you, eyebrow cocking and a crooked smile tilting his lips. “How’s your know-how?”

A sly smile lifts your own and you stand next to him and one of the trombonists. “Just play, big boy.” The guy next to you chuckles into the mouthpiece of his trombone and you nudge him with your hip as Sway laughs. His face lights up at the challenge.

“Alrighty then, chickadee. A-one, two, three, four.” His fingers flit across the keys, his hands shadows in stark contrast. You know immediately that familiar strain, calling up the words from memory.

“In old Savannah, I said Savannah. The weather there is nice, and warm.” You fan your face, winking at Sway. He opens his mouth and whoops, grinning from ear to ear.

You continue, “They call her Hard-Hearted Hannah; the Vamp of Savannah. The meanest gal in town. Leather is tough, but Hannah’s heart is tougher. She’s a gal who loves to see men suffer.”

Mettaton watches from the back, listening to you and the rest of the band improvise and play off one another. You seem to slip right into the mix, like you’ve been doing this for years. Maybe you have. He trusts Sway and if he writes off on you, then you must be good. Mettaton can already see your attitude and personality shine through, and that’s not even to say anything about your voice. He was right. His sculpted lips lift, making his silver face glint. But since when is he not.

Another pair of eyes watch from the back of the parlor. The old lights gleam, moving with a confidence only achieved by witnessing the turns of centuries. A similar thought passes through the mind belonging to them. You certainly are a handful. And perhaps more useful than you seem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are amazing, thank you so much for the support and comments and kudos. You make writing fuckin' fun <3
> 
> TUMBLR of whiskey: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	7. Someone to Watch Over Me

You close your door and breathe out a sigh, deep and rasping. Your throat was put through the ringer. You think back to the session you just got back from. Music never fails to lift your spirits and you start to think that _maybe_ it’s not such a bad gig here. Sway and the guys are fantastic musicians and it’s not every day you come across such a talented and fun group.

Mettaton said you would start tomorrow night. Your mind races through its thoughts like a day at the tracks. And not a particularly fruitful day at that. That gives you just another day to get used to the band and your routine. You push off the old wooden door and over to your bag which is still sitting on the foot of the bed. You sit atop the sheets, mattress creaking, still regretfully getting used to your presence. You rifle through your bag, taking out the clothes and folding them into piles as you go. You finally unearth your knife, knuckles and leather case. Your fingers unlatch the case with a skillful confidence, trained through years of repetition. You take out the three tubes and bring them close to your face, turning into the fading light to make sure there are no cracks. Relief threads through you when you see none. You were worried after the way the guard had yanked your bag away from you when you first arrived. And who knows what they did when you and Sans were talking to Gaster.

You place them back in the case and look around your room for a decent hiding place. You have a key, sure, but if someone really wanted to get inside, they would find a way, no doubt. And hell take you if you let someone snatch one of your most precious belongings. Your eyes drift over to the closet. It’s not the best, but it’ll have to do. You stick your weapons and case back in your bag and carry them over to the closet. It’s small. Two of you could stand shoulder to shoulder and it would still be tight all the way around. You stash your bag in the corner and hang up your clothes, partially obscuring your belongings. You start when you hear a couple of knocks on your door, disturbing the hushed quiet of your room. _Who the hell could that be?_  

You cross the room and place your hand and ear against the door. You ask, loud and clear, “Who’s there?” While you’re becoming more comfortable with your situation, you’re still cautious.

“boo.”

You smile. You know that rumble anywhere.

“Boo who?”

“no need to cry. let us in and we’ll give ya a hug.” You hear a chuckle as well as a loud groan.

You laugh and open the door to a grinning Sans and, to your surprise, the other skeleton you saw at Grillby’s. He looks much more annoyed now, until he sees you and a broad smile lifts the bones of his face. He waves vigorously over Sans’ shoulder and you wave back, stepping aside to let them in. The tall skeleton comes up to you and lifts you into a bone-crushing hug. It’s warm and takes all the breath out of your lungs. You cough out a tiny laugh as Sans chuckles, looking on.

“___, this is my bro, papyrus. paps, ___.”

“It is very nice to meet you, human! I am glad to see you escaped safely!” He sets you back down on the floor and your chest heaves as you force air back into your lungs. You smile up at Papyrus. Other than the both of them being skeletons, obviously, you think you do see a resemblance. Despite different bone structure and personalities aside, they share this clever glint in their bright eye-lights and an awareness of each other that’s magnetic. He’s taller than Sans and much taller than you, sporting a red scarf over a red shirt, black vest, and slacks. His expression is open and friendly and his voice is high and grinding, yet full of enthusiasm and emotion.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Papyrus. Thanks for the great hug.”

“Well of course it is great! I am THE GREAT PAPYRUS, after all. I am happy to give you one! Especially if you are a friend to my brother!” Your laugh is cut off into a bewildered noise when he takes your hands into his and that expression turns serious, his voice dropping.

“I also heard you saved my brother. For that I would like to thank you.”

Your eyes widen and you find it hard to look away from his earnest face. You nod, thinking of how it would feel to be so close to losing part of your family. Perhaps his only family. Though you were young, you know that feeling of loss well. Your fingers tighten around his own. “Of course, Papyrus. Sans saved mine too, so we’re even."

Sans’ smile lifts as he looks on, a passive observer of the close exchange between you two. It’s times like these, where Papyrus shows that other side of himself, not to mention the obvious concern he has for him, that makes Sans love his brother even more. And it’s times like these, when he can get an accurate read on people, just with how they interact with Papyrus. You’ve consistently surprised him; passing with flying colors.

Papyrus lets go of your hands and claps you on the shoulder. His hand is heavy, but comforting. Sans shifts his weight and begins to walk around the room. Papyrus mimics, scoping out the place as well.

“so how was your first day?”

You stand with your hands in your pockets as you respond, “Went alright. Met some folks like B.P., Sway, and the band. Mettaton did all,” you gesture to your head, “this.”

Sans looks over to you. Now that you’re relaxed and all cleaned up, he thinks you look pretty great. Damn near beautiful, he’d say. “ya look great.”

You smile and shrug, “I’m alright. Thanks though.”

Papyrus swivels his head and puts his hands on his hips. “YOU LOOK FANTASTIC, HUMAN.”

You laugh at his outburst, blushing only mildly. “Shucks, Paps.” Sans laughs with you.

“it’s true. better accept it now. he won’t let it go until you agree.” You roll your eyes as Sans continues. “how’d ya like sway and the boys?” Sans’ mind chugs, searching, like a hound for blood; he wants to know. Depending on what Mettaton has planned for you, you’ll be working with them for the foreseeable future. He trusts Sway and maybe he can talk to him, ask him to keep an eye out for you too. He’s a bit shocked at himself, at the amount of protectiveness he feels for you. He supposes that part of it might be because of what W.D. said. But he suspects it’s because of something more intimate. Something happens when you save another person’s life. It’s a bond he can’t ignore, no matter how hard he tries.

But then again, he’s not trying that hard.

His eyes focus on you as you respond, “The guys are really great. Amazing musicians. And Sway is a card. Funny, talented. Definitely feel like I can trust ‘im.” You see Sans nod and look away, lost in thought.

“good,” he says, distracted.

He turns suddenly and grins at you. “well. we won’t keep ya. we got work to do anyway.” Papyrus nods and leads the way out of the room. He yells back over his shoulder, “I will see you later, human! Sleep tight!” Sans follows, tipping his hat in one hand as he passes you. You laugh but raise your eyebrows when you feel his other hand brush against the small of your back. 

He winks at you and says, “night.” Then he’s out the door, ambling after Papyrus.

“Night,” you say as you watch them leave down the hall.

Sans hears your door shut and waits for the bolt to lock home. When it does, he concentrates on the tasks ahead. Papyrus body bobs up and down excitedly down the hall. They’re heading to W.D.’s office for some information on a job. When they’re almost to the wide double-doors, he grabs Papyrus’ arm, pulling him down to his level. Papyrus throws him a surprised and curious glance.

“gotta go take care of somethin’ real fast. i’ll be back soon.”

Papyrus fidgets. “You know W.D. does not like to be kept waiting.”

“he can wait. it’s not like he doesn’t know what i’m doin’.” Sans throws up his hands and grins cheerfully at his brother as he backs away to the parlor. “‘sides, he practically asked me to do it.”

"Well...alright. I shall fill you in if you miss anything." 

“you’re the best, bro.”

"DO NOT DAWDLE!"

Sans takes his time.

He doesn’t rush unless he needs to. He’s confident W.D. knows how he works by now. If he doesn’t…well that’s _his_ fault, now isn't it? Sure he might be pissed, but Sans isn’t particularly concerned. He picks up the sounds of the piano as he approaches the parlor and he figures it’s Sway. When he opens the door, he’s proved right as he spies him bent over the keys, engrossed in the music. Sans strolls through the dim parlor and up the steps to the stage. Sway notices Sans walking up and slows down the melody to match Sans’ pace, interlacing it with a lazy flair that is so Sans. Sway continues to play, sharing a grin as Sans leans an elbow on the body of the piano.

“My, my. Sure am glad to see your smilin’ mug, Sans. What can I do ya for, my man?”

“here to see ya ‘bout a gal.”

Sway chuckles and wags his eyebrow at Sans, whistling. “Oh yeah? Need some advice? Well, ya came to the right place. Who’s the lucky duck to have caught the smooth stylin’s of Sans the Skeleton?” His hands fly over the keys.

Sans’ smile widens and he shakes his head. “___.”

There’s the briefest pause in the tune; the only indication that Sway is taken aback. “___?” Sans nods.

Sway recovers, his smile back, melody smoothing out into a ballad. “They’re somethin’ ain’t they? Got a voice like a nightingale.” Sans is intrigued by that, if not a little concerned about what Mettaton is planning, but he can think about that later.

Sans makes a noncommittal shrug, but meets Sway’s eyes, grabbing his attention by the throat. “need ya to do me a favor, sway.”

Sway stares back, questioning. “Name it.”

“keep an eye out for ‘em for me. outta trouble, the like. can ya do that?”

“Why, sure. They’re a firecracker, but ‘s not like we ain’t had those before. Should be fine.” He raises his eyebrow. “Unless it’s not?”

Sans shifts, placing his hands back in his pockets. “let’s just say they had a fast-track interview.”

Sway’s hands slow slightly as he takes in the information. He knows better than to poke around. “You got it, my man. I’ll keep an eye on ‘em." 

Sans nods again, thankful. “thanks sway. lemme know if ya need anythin’ and i’ll see what i can do.”

The notes speed up into a swift rag as he plays Sans off-stage. “My pleasure, Sansy. Do gotta say, you’re welcome back if ya need advice! Ya might need it, they’re a live wire!” He whoops and wolf-whistles, rasping timbre ringing out across the parlor.

Sans laughs as he walks away, throwing Sway a wave over his shoulder.

“don’t i know it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers, BBs.
> 
> *clink*
> 
> ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	8. I Got Rhythm

It’s almost show-time. You had met up with Sway and the band the next day to rehearse a few songs for the show coming up in the next hour. Sway and the boys were encouraging, convinced you’d be fine. You weren’t very sure though. You haven’t done this sort of thing in a while. You’re usually with someone else or a line. Your doubts start mudding up your mind, making it hard to focus. Get it together, ___. Just think of it this way. You’re _with_ Sway and the guys. It’ll be fine.

Your inner reassurances are interrupted by a dazzling Mettaton. His silver and pink three-piece suit glitters despite the dim lighting of backstage. He takes your shoulders and looks you over with a lovingly scrutinizing eye. His smile gleams.

“You. Look. Stunning. And I want you to _feel_ stunning, _act_ stunning, _be_ stunning, darling.”

You smile back at him, psyching yourself up.

“Now our regular shows are fairly standard. I want to see what you’ve got. Do what feels right in the moment. You’ve got a personality, a body, a voice. Don’t be afraid to use them.”

“Maybe you should go out and wow ‘em instead, M.”

His laugh tinkles, echoing through the room. He dramatically throws a hand over his eyes. “If only, my dear. I’m afraid there must be sacrifices if I’m to run this place.”

His hands squeeze your shoulders one last time, before he lets you go. “Break a leg, darling.”

“Thanks, M.”

You watch him stride around the curtain back to the front to mingle and oversee his domain. Sway comes up to you, laying a jacketed arm around your shoulders, leaning on you.

“Ya ready, chickadee?”

You turn your head to look at him. His dark eyes are kind and his smile holds an excitement that you think will never go away. You give him a crooked smile back.

“Let’s knock ‘em dead.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 _almost showtime,_ Sans thinks as he grabs his hat, brushing the dust from it before placing it securely on his skull. The white bones of his hands smooth the dark tie laying over his white shirt and blue pinstripe vest with a practiced ease. He’s very interested in how tonight will turn out. He’ll try to enjoy it, but he’s definitely gotta keep a sharp eye out.

“Are you ready brother?”

“yep.”

The skeleton brothers step out of their room, and head down to the parlor. As they pass Gaster’s office, Papyrus throws open the door in his excitement. Gaster whirls around to see who has so rudely interrupted his work.

“W.D. ARE YOU COMING TO THE SHOW TONIGHT?”

Sans smirks and laughs to himself as he watches Gaster hastily collect himself at the sight of them, shuffling stacks of papers.

**“I have much work to do.”**

Papyrus puts his hands on his hips and almost pouts. “But this is ___’s first performance!”

Gaster doesn’t stop his hands, eye-lights trained on his work. Sans almost misses the near-imperceptible raising of Gaster’s brow.

**“As I said, Papyrus. I have much work to do.”**

Sans taps Papyrus’ side. He waves to Gaster, smirking, and tugs on his jacket. “ _suit_ yourself, w.d. c’mon, paps.” Gaster huffs as Sans and Papyrus leave.

When they enter the parlor, the noise is close to deafening. Sans is surprised at the amount of people. It’s not that he hasn’t seen the place so crowded; he has. It’s more that it seems like it should just be a regular night. On the other hand, they don’t get much in the way of new people or shows. Mettaton must have done some fierce advertising for this. Only he could do this in such a short amount of time. Papyrus spies Undyne at one of the tables nearest the stage and starts dragging Sans through the crowd.

The tall fish monster turns and grins at the brothers as they approach, sharp teeth glinting like daggers in the light. Daggers she is certain to be acquainted with and that may or may not lie in wait along her belt.

“Hey guys! Sit down, there’s a couple of seats for you.” They each take chairs and face them toward the stage.

Undyne crosses her arms. “So I hear M got a new singer.”

“YES, they saved Sans’ life! Then Sans asked W.D. to let them stay here!”

Undyne’s one yellow eye widens and flicks over to Sans, a small spark of anger flashing through it. “Close call. I probably should have been told about that, Sans.”

Sans just smiles and shrugs it off, advocating, “well i’m fine. no bones about it.”

Undyne and Papyrus throw back their heads and groan. A waitress comes by and drops off a round of drinks at the table. Undyne and Papyrus start to talk about training and other things that Sans doesn’t listen closely to. He places his arm on the table, hand wrapped around the cool glass. His other is stuffed into his pocket as he settles into the chair. He looks around the room underneath the brim of his hat. To a regular patron, he would look fried, slouching in his chair like a monster who can’t hold his liquor. Good. He wants them to think that. If someone plays their cards wrong, it’s the last thing they’ll think. His eyes are anything but lazy though. They’re bright, eager, and focused as they scan the crowds.

When he hears the piano start to play, his eyes shoot to the stage. The heavy velvet curtains are still drawn. When they start to part, the volume rises with the crowd’s hoots and hollers. And he knows why.

Because he can’t take his eyes off of you either.

You’re wearing a silver and gold satin dress that hangs off of your body in all the right places. It ends just above your knee, revealing smooth legs. But as you sway back and forth and dance across the stage, he sees slits on either side that run up to the tops of your thighs, almost to your hips. Sans doesn’t recognize the tune, but he’s not particularly upset by that. He’s just listening to your voice. It’s low, but smooth and smoky, like a good cigar. You’ve got more makeup on, probably Mettaton’s doing. He admits it works, even if it’s not his glass. Your face is so animated as you sing to the crowd and to Sway and the band. Your hair bounces with your movements, soft waves teasing the air and your shoulders. When you finish the first song, the crowd roars with applause and he claps along with Papyrus and Undyne, bony hands clacking together.

Sway starts the next song, slow and dramatic, then picking up the pace just as quick, even more jazzy and bawdy than the last.

“It don’t mean a thing, if it ain’t got that swing.”

Tables clap and whoop as you sing on. When the trumpet and trombone players stand up to take their solos, you hum and dance on over to Sway. You scat syllables, improvising a duet with Sway who laughs and eats it up, sending you and the crowd on a syncopated journey. When you finish up, the mass of people applaud again and you bow along with the band, breathing hard.

Mettaton watches you from the back of the parlor. His chest is puffed out in pride, hands clasped in front of him. He knew it. _Knew_ it. He had no doubt you would charm the patrons. He has a gift for these kinds of things. He surveys the crowd, making sure everything is going smoothly as you perform. Suddenly, he sees a shadow shift out of the corner of his eye and he shakes his black locks from his face to get a better look. Gaster emerges from seemingly nowhere next to Mettaton, cracked face impassive, hands tucked neatly behind his back. Mettaton’s lips twist into a slight smirk as he turns back to watch you.

Mettaton speaks quietly, knowing Gaster can hear him, “So should I be thanking you or Sans?”

**“It was Sans’ idea.”**

“ _You_ not taking credit for this obvious accomplishment? Oh dear, I must _simply_ be dreaming.”

**“I do not gamble, Mettaton.”**

Mettaton chuckles and inspects his hand. “You should. It’s fun.” His manicured finger trails pointedly up and down Gaster. “But then again, you don’t _do_ fun, do you?”

Gaster ignores him, continuing, **“We shall see how it turns out.”**

Mettaton’s eyebrow raises as he looks over at Gaster. “Turns out? How could it be anything other than a hit?”

Gaster doesn’t respond, calculating gaze fixed on you and the performance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoo bop doo wop
> 
> Tumblr: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	9. Ain't Misbehavin'

The heavy red curtain closes, and you exhale, sweat dripping down your temple. The applause outside hasn’t stopped and you look to Sway. His smile is miles wide as he waves you over, excitement flashing in his dark eyes.

“You got ‘em eatin’ out your hand, chickadee. Got one more in ya?”

You wipe the sweat from your brow and roll your shoulders, cracking your back. You smile at him. “Yeah. What should we do?”

“We’ve had fun, yeah, but let’s have _fun_. What ya say?”

You catch his drift. You try to set your mind right, thinking about what you have to do next. The response from the crowd fuels you, not to mention seeing your new friends at the tables, especially Sans. The look on his face was priceless. You wrack your brain for a moment, when suddenly a grin splits your face. You know just the song. “Love for Sale?” you ask.

Sway’s face lights up in recognition and a confident smirk, giving you two thumbs up. He cups his hands around his mouth and shouts to his bandmates, “Encore, boys! Love for Sale!”

Several of the guys whistle as they get ready and you laugh, standing next to Sway. He looks up at you from the bench.

“Show ‘em what ya got.” He raises his hand to the stage director, pointing it skyward and moving it in circles. The curtain lifts once more and the applause gets even louder. The drummer and bass start a shifting slow beat and your hips sway along with the chords the piano doles out. When you sing this time around, you try to make your voice as sultry as you can, dipping into the low, dusty tones.

“Love for sale. Appetizing young love for sale.”

You circle around Sway, dragging your hand along his shoulders. You see him smile as you drift away, striding slowly across the front of the stage. You pop out your leg and hip from the confines of your dress and you hear some wolf-whistles and claps echo through the parlor. You begin to step down the stairs of the stage.

“Who will buy? Who would like to sample my supply?

Who’s prepared to pay the price, for a trip to paradise?

Love for sale." 

Your eyes rove the tables like a predator, eventually spotting Sans. Oh, you’re gonna have a lot of fun with this. You continue to sing, and walk across the floor. Your heels tick on the wood. Click, click, clickclickclick.

“If you want the thrill of love, I’ve been through the mill of love;”

You stop in front of Sans, swaying back and forth. His eye-sockets are wide and he tips his hat back with his thumb as he grins at you. You take a long step to the left, exposing your leg, and sit in his lap, side-saddle. You lift your legs to cross them.

 "Old love, new love.

Everything but true love.

Love for sale."

Your fingers grasp his tie, tugging on it and his smile gets impossibly wider. Your hand wraps around and around, drawing him closer. You can hear him rumble in his chest and his pupils are burning. You’re so close, you catch a subtle pine scent. You smirk and push him back, rising from his lap. You circle back in front and bend forward between his legs, singing to him.

“Appetizing young love for sale.

If you want to buy my wares,

Follow me and climb the stairs.

Love for sale.”

The sax player up on stage wails a solo, low and slow. Your hand slides around the back of his skull and you think you hear his bones rattle. You bring your hand up swiftly and pop his hat up and off his head, catching and plopping it onto your own. Sans laughs, a deep, full-bellied laugh. You take his drink and tip it all the way back. You hear laughs and applause, especially a loud “YEAH!” from the fish monster at Sans’ table.

You place the glass back on the table, but start walking off with his hat back up the stairs. When you get back on stage, you finish the song and bow with a sweep from Sans’ hat. The curtain closes.

Sway shoots up off the bench and jogs over to you, lifting you up and spinning you around, laughing as he goes. You laugh with him loudly, body shaking from your high. 

“That was somethin’! Man, that was _somethin’ else!_ ”

He puts you down and you take the hat from your head, fingers rubbing the tough fabric. You look at Sway with a tired smile. “I just did what y’all told me.”

“Well ya did it, sugar. M’ll be in heaven.” You both hear quick steps coming backstage. Sway smirks at you. “Speak o’ the devil.” You snicker.

Mettaton practically flies up to you, clapping all the way. His metallic voice rings out in the backstage, like a bell with lungs. “Bravo, just _bravo_ , darling! I knew you could do it!”

“I tried my best.”

“And your best was wonderful. We shall have to talk more about your future here later. Tonight and tomorrow, you rest. You’ve earned it.” He looks around, making sure the other acts are on their way. “Now I must go to keep this place running.” He squeezes your shoulder before striding away with purpose.

You turn your head to Sway who’s leaning on your other shoulder. “You’ve got more playin’ to do, huh?”

He nods, gravely. “Someone has to help these poor souls along, chickadee.” You laugh. “But you should come to the party after. There’s always somethin’ after the shows."

You smile, excited as you think ahead to the party. But also to get this makeup off your face. You wave to Sway and the guys as you head to your dressing room. You step inside and close the door, collapsing into the seat in front of the wide mirrors. You place Sans’ hat on the counter and pour yourself a glass of water. You just sit for a moment, decompressing. You stare at the hat and chuckle. You’ll have to give that back to him sometime.

You hear a knock at the door. You sigh and lift yourself up, a smirk on your lips at the hilarious thought of Sans asking for his hat back.

You open the door and say, teasingly, “Hey, S—.” But the words die a swift death on your lips. You tilt your head, looking up, up at a cracked face. Gaster looks almost bored as he peers down at you, but you can see the slight upturn of his mouth. Not quite a sneer, but rather a smile that delights in the fact that he’s caught you off guard.

You set your jaw and stare right back. “Hello, W.D.”

**“Evening. Are you going to invite me inside?”**

You grimace internally as you step aside, his tall, dark form passing by you with a whisper. He waves his hand and the door slips from your hand, shutting behind you both. You try to keep cool even though your heart is anything but right now.

Gaster moves around the room, eyes roving and scanning the environment. His hands are clasped behind his back, firm and neat. Just so.

**“Excellent performance tonight, ___. I do say, bravo.”**

“Thank you,” you respond, no emotion.

He glances back at you, eyebrow raised, that smirk still sitting on his face. He admonishes, “ **Oh, come now. No need to be that way. Don’t you trust me?”**

You don’t answer him, just meeting his gaze impassively. His smirk expands into a smile as he turns to face you fully, the darkness rippling in the furrows on his face.

**“It seems Sans was right in his suggestion. You brought in a great deal of business tonight.”** He steps closer to you and it takes everything you have not to step back. You have to hold your ground. You can’t show weakness. **“Keep up the good work.”** It doesn’t take a genius to recognize the sneaking threat behind his words. A threat that waits silently in the dark, with only the glint of the knife it’s holding to tell you it’s there.

**“And who knows, maybe your talents will expand during your stay here.”**

You _really_ don’t like the way this is going. The words are out of your mouth before you can catch them, faster than a viper and just as sharp. “I thought you knew everything.”

He chuckles, voice crackling in mirth and self-satisfaction. **“Oh, I do. I know you’ll be of more use. I just am,”** he steps even closer and almost hisses, **“ _curious_ to see how much.”**

You jut out your chin in indignation and your lip curls at his words. You can only imagine what he means by them. His pupils flick up to a point above your head, staring blankly for a moment, before he smiles again and steps back.

**“Thank you for this most engaging conversation. Once again, bravo.”** He bows forwards the slightest bit saying, **“Sleep well,”** before disappearing.

Your rigid posture slumps and you put your hands to your face, exhaling a shaky breath. Gaster makes your skin crawl and you can’t help but play his words and thinly veiled threats over and over in your head. You shudder to think what he has in store for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update is a bit late. I gots papers comin' up in school. Lame, right? 
> 
> I hope you enjoy though! <3
> 
> Come have a drink with me: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	10. After Hours

Sans is in a state of amused shock. Phew. Do you got _it_ or what. He had no idea what you were gonna pull once that curtain went up again, but, boy, is he not complaining. As soon as you started singing and moving across that stage, you had him. It wasn’t just the dancing that got him, though he would _not_ mind you doing that for him again; it was your confidence. All of it just turned him on, attracted him to you like a moth to the flame.  

He’s jarred from his stupor by a clap on the back from Papyrus. He chuckles as he turns to his brother and Undyne. She’s laughing and giving him a thumbs up, mirth bright in her one yellow eye.

Papyrus says, “They sing very well! And _you_ seemed to like it, NYEH HEH HEH!”

Sans grins and gets up from his seat. “gotta go see someone about a hat.”

“Oh YES, brother! Go get _that hat_!”

Sans bursts into laughter, flipping Papyrus’ own hat off his head as he shuffles off. He makes his way through the parlor, mind still wrapped around your performance. Those legs….

A sing-song shout interrupts him. “YOOHOO! Hey lover-boy!” He whips his head around to a smirking Sway. “Your hat is thataway, to your left!” He laughs and shimmies in a circle, teasing Sans. Sans chuckles, throwing him a wave before following Sway’s directions. He sees your door and the closer he gets to it, the more excited he gets about seeing you. Preferably with his hat on. He raises his hand to knock.

Slow raps on your door jar you from your mild panic. You rub your face and try to compose yourself before opening the door. This time it is Sans. His lazy grin is wide across his face and his eye-lights brighten when they see you. You try and force a smile out, but your heart just isn’t in it. Sans notices and tenses, his eyes roving your face. His brow creases and he steps back, searching up and down the hallway, before moving forward and sliding his hand along the wood of the door, bones scraping the paint. He opens it wide. When he enters, it’s with a cautious step. You lean against the wall, watching him scan the room, looking for something. Anything. He turns to you, looking you up and down as well. He moves close to you, close enough that you catch that pine scent once more.

“what happened?” His voice is low and concerned, but insistent.

You look away and cross your arms, wanting to just forget. “It was nothing.”

His hand comes up and grabs your chin, gentle but firm. He forces you to meet his eyes.

“don’t lie to me. i’m lazy not stupid.” You look into his eye-lights. They’re hard and focused. They soften somewhat as his thumb strokes your jaw. “you can tell me.”

You sigh, admitting, “It was Gaster.” His eyes flash at that.

“gaster?” You nod. “what did he say?”

“Not much, but his threat was clear.” Sans waits for you to continue. “Don’t fuck up. And,” now you do look off to the side as you say, “he’s sure he’s gonna find more uses for me.”

Sans’ fingers tighten just the smallest fraction against your jaw as he bristles. He growls, “the deal was to keep you safe, not throw you to the dogs.”

You throw up your hands and jerk your head away from his grip, stepping around him as you rant. “It’s not like I have a _choice_ , Sans. He’s gonna do whatever he wants because he can. To satisfy his _curiosity_ ,” you spit out. You place your hands on the counter, leaning heavily onto it with your shoulders hunched. Your eyes catch Sans staring at you in the mirror, still angry but more resigned as he considers what you said. Your fingers brush the coarse fabric of Sans’ hat. The rough material grounds you. You sigh and pick it up, turning back around to Sans, resolved.

“All I can do is roll with the punches. Keep on my toes, like ya said. If anything happens, well…I’ll just have to figure it out, huh?” You give him a cautious smile.

He walks over to you, faint smile back on his face, the anger tempered by determination. His hands come up to grab the upper part of your arms, assuring you, “i’m not gonna let anything happen to ya, ok?”

You chuckle half-heartedly. “Tempted to ask why you care so much.”

He laughs with you. “said i’d keep an eye on ya, didn’t i? plus, after that dance tonight, you’ve got my full attention.”

You laugh and shove his hat in his face. “Sure, as if I didn’t before.”

His laughter rumbles in his chest as he secures his hat in its rightful place atop his skull.

“not at all,” he teases in his deep voice. He steps back and looks you over once more, whistling low. He backs away outside the door, eyes burning into yours. He sticks his hands in his pockets and tells you, “good night.”

“Night, Sans.” You wave as he walks away.

Sans stalks back down the hall. The further he gets away from you, the more his anger comes back. What the hell is W.D. playing at? He’s gotta another think comin’ if he assumes he can just use you however he wants. And not just from him. He’s sure you’ll give Gaster a piece of your mind too. He really wants to just do that now, but he tries to calm down. Sans doesn’t show his cards so quickly. Not his style. W.D. is still the boss here and it wouldn’t turn out well to start anything. But. If he pushes the line, you can be damn sure Sans is going to push back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You get changed into your regular clothes. While the dress was beautiful, and you know how to work them to your favor, you prefer the comfort of pants. You step outside the dressing room and make your way down the hall. When you get backstage, you stand off to the side, keeping an eye out for Sway. You see people mill about, going in and out. One man catches your eye though. He’s turning around in a slow circle, a focused and amusingly confused expression on his face. Now that you get a good look at him, you see that he’s pretty handsome, mess of black hair dripping into his face as he rubs his stubble-coated chin. He’s dressed casual, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up, revealing the olive-toned skin of his forearms. He can’t be that much older than you, within the decade you guess. No matter how attractive he is, he definitely looks lost. You walk over to him, sizing him up. He’s taller than you, probably around six feet and since he’s not wearing a coat or tie, you can tell he’s pretty well-built.  

“Need help?” He turns to you quickly, taken by surprise. You hold up your hands and laugh. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya. You just look lost.”

A bright smile spreads across his face, lighting up a pair of hazel eyes that sit above a slightly crooked nose. He laughs, a good loud laugh that makes you chuckle. “Bet I did look like a sap, huh?” His voice is on the deeper side, tinged with the barest accent of the city.

You shake your head, smiling. “Nah.”

He runs a hand through his dark hair before hooking his hands in his suspenders. “Well I’m not lost anymore, because I’ve found the person I was looking for.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Me?”

He nods, charming smile tilting his mouth. He holds out his hand. “Yep. I just wanted to say I enjoyed your singing tonight.”

You take his hand cautiously, still surprised he’d be looking for you, but you shake it firmly regardless. It’s rough and warm, well worn. “Well…thanks…?” You wait for him to say his name.

His eyes gleam. “Tony.”

You nod, smiling, giving his hand one more good shake. “Tony. I’m ___.” He lets go of your hand, resuming its place in his suspenders. He just smiles at you for a moment, eyes focused on you. You look at him, finding yourself caught by those hazel eyes. He shakes his head, and rubs his cheek nervously as he laughs.

“Well, I’ll be going before I make more of a fool of myself. Hope we meet again, ___.”

You wave, saying, “See ya around then, Tony.” He waves back before turning and disappearing back out front.

Well that was…weird and unexpected. But not in an entirely bad way. It’s always nice to know people appreciate what you do.

You return to your place against the wall and sure enough, Sway comes out from behind the curtain. His dark eyes spot you and his smile illuminates the dim atmosphere. His long legs take him across the floor and over to you with a swaggering ease.

His raspy voice echoes in the stage as he asks, “Ya ready to party, chickadee?”

After the surprise visit from Gaster, you are very much ready to leave that meeting behind. Preferably at the bottom of a bottle. “Yes, please.” You wrap your arm around his and flash him a smile. “Lead the way, good sir.”

He fans his face as he laughs, leading you off to the apartments. “Good sir? Well I do declare!” he flutters in his best southern accent.

You laugh with him and bump his hip with yours, though you have to stand up on your toes a bit to do so. He cackles, “Ya practically had to jump for that.”

“Yeah, well if ya weren’t such a beanpole, I wouldn’t have to,” you say, smirking. A bright expression crosses your face. “I should just call you beanpole instead!”

He bursts into laughter, saying, “As if I haven’t heard that one before. But, I think I prefer Sway.” He punctuates his name by maneuvering you into a dancing position against him, twirling you through the parlor. He dips you low before straightening back up. You’re consumed by giggles at this point, happy to be on your way to forgetting what happened earlier. You both exit the parlor into the side building where you and you assume everyone else lives. You go up, up to your floor, and pass by your door.

Your surprise echoes out in the hall. “You live on this floor, too?”

“Mhmm. M lets all the performers live here if they want. All they gotta do is their job and they got a place.”

“That’s…actually a pretty good deal.”

He draws you close, smiling down at you. “This place ain’t so bad once ya get used to it, chickadee. Don’t worry. We look out for our own here.” You mirror his smile, the caution in your heart slipping just a bit more.

He eventually stops in front of a battered red door. Music and laughs and the clinking of glasses slip out from under the cracks. He throws it wide with a shout, “Heya boys! The party has arrived!”

You walk in, looking around at the large room. Strings of lights drip from the ceiling, shining on the faded reds, greens, and golds of the Persian rugs and oriental lamps and furniture. You turn around the room, catching the faces of those in the band and some other performers, amongst others you don’t recognize; men, women, and monsters alike. You wave, smiling. They clap, whooping and grinning back at you. You only mildly blush as Sway comes up with a couple of drinks, handing you one and tipping back his own. He ushers you onto the sofa as the conversations pick back up around you, drowning the room in a mild roar. You sit down next to the large trombone player from your first day, who you’ve come to know as Big Johnny. Sway takes a place beside you, throwing his arm behind your shoulders, chatting and laughing with the rest.

Big Johnny bumps your shoulder with his and clinks his glass against your own, laughing in his deep baritone. “Good job tonight. Ya really knocked ‘em dead.” He winks at you. “Especially Sans the man.”

You chuckle, taking a swig. “Yeah? Well ya weren’t too shabby yourself.” He laughs but is cut off when Sway leans over you, smug grin on his face.

“Shabby? The only thing shabbier is his drinking skills.” He winks at you conspiratorially.

Big Johnny guffaws, yelling, “You’re on!” He grabs a bottle of liquor from the table as well as two shot glasses. He and Sway commence their drinking game and you look on in amused mirth. Your own liquor heats you up, burning through your veins and clouding your head, quite wonderfully you muse. As you laugh at Sway’s quickly deteriorating condition, you think that maybe you could get used to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Slides across table with shaking hands* Here you go. I haven't stopped writing and planning the future of this story for 3 days. Enjoy....my BBs....
> 
> *snores* Zzzzzzzzz
> 
> Come have a drink with me: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	11. Round Midnight

Rank. Cloying. Suffocating.

Dusty.

This is one of those times Sans is thankful he isn’t a dog. The smell is frankly horrific. They must have been like this all night. He turns to G.D. and L.D., waving them off with a sweep from his hat.

“get outta here, boys. keep guard outside. y’all don’t need to be here for this.”

The two white dog monsters whimper their thanks and make a hasty exit out of the warehouse. They’ll still smell it, but it won’t be as bad. They’ll probably be smelling it for several days afterwards, Sans thinks. He turns back to the carnage. The then-exciting events of last night sour in his mind as he thinks of how this was happening while everyone was neck-deep in legs and hooch. He walks around the battered warehouse with Papyrus and Undyne. Broken boxes and glass litter the ground like a carpet, spelling out in not so many words the amount of damage done. Coating that is an unhealthy amount of bloody bodies and dust. Some bastards from another gang must’ve come through, taking out the good men and monsters guarding the Family’s livelihood before stealing it. Papyrus is somber, unusually quiet as he takes it in. Undyne is practically frothing at the mouth. 

“Who the hell coulda done this?” Undyne asks, angry as all hell.

“any number of folks. we’ve been cornering the market recently. i’m sure we’re not hurtin’ for enemies."

She throws up her arms. “We should’ve KNOWN about this! Isn’t that fucking W.D.’s job?”

**“Yes. It is."**

Sans rolls his eyes. He sure loves to make a goddamn entrance. Undyne whips around to Gaster, his tall form impeccably dressed, casting a long shadow over the mess.

“It’s about damn time you showed up! Thanks for _gracing_ us with your presence, _boss_.”

He steps toward her, imposing. The darkness that seems to hang out around him crackles as he shoots her a dangerous glare.

**“Mind your tongue, Undyne. I did not see this happening. Nor did I hear any mention of it from my sources. _Obviously_.”**

She glares back, anger bright in her yellow eye, but she keeps her mouth shut. Good, Sans thinks. There’s enough trouble brewing already. Even if she is right to a degree. How could they have not known? That lack of information cost them a lotta good people.

Papyrus asks, nervousness evident in his tone, “What should we do?”

Gaster strides slow and calculated through the sea of slaughter. **“Search for clues. There’s always a tell. Someone most likely couldn’t help themselves.”**

All four and a smattering of others spread out inside the warehouse, turning over boxes, shrapnel, glass, whatever they can get their hands on. Sans kicks aside some shattered wood on his way to the back of the building, eyes scanning the ground and bodies. He reaches a back room, probably where the head of their own outfit was holing up. The metal door is ajar, bullet holes having torn the handle apart like soft cheese. His hand pushes the door open wide, steel screeching in complaint. The bones of his mouth curl up in disgust. He steps out and yells to the others, “think i found somethin’!”

It’s not long before Gaster, Papyrus, and Undyne arrive, all crowding inside the small room. What lays before them is skin-crawling. There’s blood everywhere. Thick pools of it, congealed from air and dust. The humans lay slumped against the far wall like dolls. Some eyes closed, but others wide open and staring. Staring blankly into nothing. Not anymore. But something is off to Sans. One man lies on the floor in front of the desk. This is perhaps the most disturbing sight, because out of all of them, he is the only one who’s missing part of their scalp. It screams at him, crimson circle ringed by clotted brown hair. Sans walks further inside and Gaster follows.

“our man is there,” he points to the poor soul laying on top of the desk, blood surrounding his head, “and it looks execution-style.” He turns to the man on the floor. “but i don’t recognize him. why’s this sap different?”

Gaster folds his hand behind his back as his eye-lights focus, thinking. **“Because you are correct. He is not one of ours.”** He bends down to inspect the man’s head. **“I believe it is safe to say he is one of the ones who did all of this.”**

Sans scratches his skull, pushing his hat up. “but it was a slaughter on our end. didn’t even know it was comin’. we didn’t do this,” he gestures to the man, “why would they kill one o’ their own?”

**“Perhaps he went against orders.”** He turns his head to their man on the desk. **“Like kill him?”**  

Sans crosses his arms, scowling and concerned. Whatever happened, there’s no doubt who did it.

“there’s only one who does work like this,” he spits, pointing at the scalped man.

Gaster nods in agreement. **“Jimmy the Barber.”**

Undyne shouts, “Well, _shit!_ ”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up and immediately want to go back to sleep. The world is too harsh on every part of your body right now. Your head is pounding and it feels like there’s a storm-ridden sea right in your stomach. You cover your face with your hand and groan. You lift yourself, inch-by-inch, testing those roiling waters with how much movement you can get away with at the moment. You sit for a while, waiting until you feel able to stand. But it doesn’t really matter anymore, because you shoot up and run for the bathroom, getting sick. After you’re done vacating your guts, you lean back against the tub, resting your head on the cool ceramic. What a godsend right now. Though you do feel a bit better. Good enough to get up and get ready to go downstairs for some much needed food and water.

You walk down the hall, taking slow steps and squinting to keep out as much light as possible. Never again, you think. It’s a pretty regular thought after such nights. What follows is an equally regular one as well.

Never again…without food.

Rinse, repeat until the next time.

You step out into the parlor, thankful for the dim atmosphere. You veer a bit unsteadily to the right, over to where B.P. is cleaning glasses behind the bar. He looks up and laughs, slitted eyes glittering in the hazy light.

“Fun night, huh?”

You wave and just nod once, not wanting to rock the boat you’ve balanced precariously so far.

“Let me guess, little buddy. You don’t seem to be a hair o’ the dog kinda gal.” You shake your head and make a face, the thought of having any kind of alcohol repulsing you. “Just a glass of water then.”

You give him a thumbs up and say, “And maybe some bread too, please?”

He throws you a crooked smile as he heads to the back. “No problem.” He comes back with your water and bread and you smile faintly, saying, “Thank you, B.P.”

He chuckles and goes back to cleaning the glasses. You sit in companionable silence until you hear a door slam. The noise makes you cringe. You and B.P. turn to see a stumbling Sway careen out of the door, looking very much like shit. You let out a soft laugh, not wanting to disturb your head any more than necessary. He trudges his way to the bar, sliding into a stool next to you. He lays his head down on the counter, leaning against you. You hear his muffled groans.

He croaks, “Don’t let me challenge Big Johnny _ever_ again.”

“Did you know you would lose? You seemed pretty confident.”

He throws up his hand. “I may or may not’ve already been compromised at that point in time.”

You chuckle, pushing over part of your bread for him to nibble on. He accepts it gratefully, picking up and kissing the back of your hand. “A right saint you are, chickadee.” Your chuckles deepen as you go back to sipping your water. B.P. sets a glass of water down for him as well. Sway reaches for B.P.’s hand to kiss it too, but he slides it quickly out of reach before he can.

B.P. wags his finger at him, ears twitching, “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, Sway.”

“Good reflexes, B.P. Almost…,” He winks at him, “cat-like, would ya say.”

B.P. rolls his eyes, but laughs. “You hang out with Sans too much.”

Sway chuckles, bumping your shoulder with his. “We’re just gonna have to share the skeleton. Can’t both be competin’ for his love.” You let out a shocked laugh that makes your head throb.

“I think you’ll win, you’re much more charming than I am.”

B.P. points his rag at you, smiling, “That’s not what it looked like last night.”

You can’t help the blush that rises to your cheeks. You try to play it off though, shrugging. “Geez, c’mon, guys. I doubt he’s really interested.” You take a sip of your water.

Sway and B.P. share a wry, disbelieving look. Sway says nonchalantly, “Just keep them big ol’ peepers open, chickadee. Ya never know what’ll happen.”

At that moment, the front door opens and in stride Sans, Papyrus, and the fish monster from last night. You, Sway, and B.P. turn to watch, taking a good look at them. Their faces are drawn and serious as they whisper amongst themselves. You start to get a small feeling of concern the longer you look at them. Something must have gone down. You can only imagine what. They notice you all at the bar and rapidly quiet down. You raise your eyebrow, not surprised. Need to know, you guess. Sans plasters on his trademark grin and now you’re surprised, because if you hadn’t seen him before, you would’ve thought everything was fine. He’s definitely got a good poker face. You’ll have to keep that in mind in the future. They all walk up to you, B.P., and Sway.

Papyrus gives you a big hug that lifts you part-way off the stool. You laugh, hugging him back, thankful your stomach has settled for the moment.

“Very good job last night, human!”

“Thanks, Paps,” you say as you smile at him.

The fish monster next to him agrees enthusiastically, saying, “Yeah! That was awesome _and_ hot! Sans sure liked it.” She waggles her eyebrow as she elbows Sans. He chuckles, shrugging. She sticks out her hand and you take it, shaking it firmly

“The name’s Undyne!”

“___. Nice to meet ya.” She flashes her dagger-like teeth at you and throws her arm around Papyrus’ neck.

“C’mon, Papyrus, we gotta train and take some inventory today.” She waves to everyone, and Papyrus waves too, struggling slightly in her grip. “See ya ___, Sway, B.P.!”

Sans taps your shoulder, motioning you to follow him. “gotta borrow ‘em for a minute,” he says to Sway and B.P.

“Bring ‘em back in one piece, preferably, Sansy,” Sway says as he raises his glass to you both.

You laugh, slipping off the stool to lean over to Sans. “Sansy?”

He chuckles. “he’s the only one who can get away with that, so don’t go gettin’ any ideas.”

You fake a pout. “Well, what am I gonna call you now? Everything else pales in comparison.” He places his hand on the small of your back, steering you to a secluded part of the parlor.

“handsome, babe, stud. any of those’ll do.” You burst into laughter, rolling your eyes. When he stops your smile drops as you catch the serious look on his face now.

“ok, real talk, sweetheart.”

You raise your brow as a curious expression crosses your face. “Looks like somethin’ went down. Am I right?”

“everything’s not exactly copacetic, no. not gonna give ya details. but. it does mean somethin’ for you. ya know the guy ya nearly capped?”

“How could I forget,” you say dryly.

“well the gang he belongs to is on the hunt, not playin’ nice with us, the like. ya gotta be even more careful now, alright?”

“So you know the gang?”

He nods, sticking his hands in his pockets. “run by the tartaglias. new ebott’s is led by a mean bastard called jimmy the barber.”

The blood leaves your face, dread and a surge of fury shoot deep into your heart at the name.

“Did you just say…Jimmy the Barber?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT ARE WE IN A MUSICAL OR SOMETHIN
> 
> uh
> 
> I mean, I hope you enjoy this chapter.
> 
> Also, I wrote a really sad drabble on my tumblr if ya wanna read it! Mmm....sad things...
> 
> Come have a drink with me: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	12. The Night Has a Thousand Eyes

Sans stares at you wide-eyed, shocked. You look like you’ve seen a ghost, and he hasn’t seen Napstablook around anywhere recently.

“how do you know that name?” he demands.

Your eyes meet his for the briefest of moments, before darting around the parlor. He knows that look. Cagey, avoiding something. Lying.

“I’m just familiar with the name.”

His eyes bore into yours, searching. You cross your arms, hand brushing quickly across something underneath your shirt. There’s something there. Something close, intimate; an answer. His curiosity eats at him. “is there somethin’ i should know about?” he prods.

You shake your head, still nervous. He isn’t taking that as an answer. He grabs your wrist, dragging you farther into the dark.

“if you know something that’s gonna put you or any of us here in danger, i _need_ to know about it,” he grinds out, forceful now.

Memories are pressing down on you hard now, harder than the force of Sans’ hand around your wrist. You almost can’t breathe. Jimmy the Barber…. Your parents…. Tears prick your eyes, unbidden. Sans notices, taken aback. Just what the hell happened?

His voice is softer and he lets go of your wrist, instead hands coming to grasp your shoulders, gentle but firm. “you can trust me.” You look into his eyes, desperately trying to find any indication that he’d lie. You don’t though. You didn’t think he would. You sigh and your shaking hands lift the golden chain and locket from your neck. Shafts of dusty light glint off the metallic surface. Sans watches you, interested. You open it and place it in his hand, with all the tenderness of a precious treasure. He holds it up to his eyes, getting a good look at it. It’s two people, a man and woman. His eye-lights glance back and forth between the locket and you, and, suddenly, he sees.

“these are your parents.”

You nod. “It was my mom’s locket.”

Was. He looks back down, connecting the dots. They’re obviously gone. His sockets widen.

“are you saying they were killed by jimmy the barber?”

You shrug, looking off. “Not exactly. Though I don’t really know. I was told later by the police that he was involved in whatever got them killed.”

The locket shifts in his hand as he looks at it. The gold dances in the soft lighting, sliding and clicking with hollow ticks against the bones of his hand. You look like your father. Same nose, cheekbones, chin. But your smile and fiery eyes are your mother’s. He closes it gently. He lifts the chain and steps close to you, placing it back around your neck. After he’s done that, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a strong embrace. You draw in a sharp breath and stare up at the ceiling for a few moments, blinking rapidly to get rid of the tears. You fail though, resting your forehead against his neck as you hug him back. Part of him is enjoying holding you to him, but he shoves the thought away with a degree of disgust. This is _not_ the time to think of that. You just admitted a vulnerable side of yourself and Sans won’t make you regret it.

He murmurs, “i’m sorry.” You just squeeze him tighter.

He pulls away and you wipe your tears, a bit frustrated you let him see that. You scowl as you see the dark spots on his jacket. You wipe them too, groaning, “Ah shit, I’m sorry.”

He chuckles and holds your hand still. “these rags? i got five more just like it, don’t worry.” He winks at you. “all water under the bridge.”

You flash him a small smile. His hand lingers for a moment before letting you go. His eyes catch your gaze as he says, “whatever the barber did, he’s not gonna get away with it, then or now. and they’re not gonna get to you here.”

You exhale, wanting to believe him. “I hope you’re right.”

He chuckles, taking your hand and wrapping it around his arm. “since when am i not, dollface?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“ _d a m n i t_!” Sans yells, eye flickering in rage as he kicks a bottle across the warehouse with a sharp shatter.

It’s the same scene as a week ago. Broken boxes, broken bottles, broken bodies. He turns to Undyne, shoulders hunched as his magic blazes through him.

“i thought we stepped up security?” he growls, fury rumbling in his chest.

She looks equally frustrated and mad. “We did. There has to be a reason why this keeps happening. This is almost too smart for them. For him.”

“ _fuck_ him, fuck _them_! they can’t keep getting away with this.”

Even though there were no more scalped men, they both know it’s the Barber and his thugs. Too close to be coincidence. And no scalping means his men learned a lesson. He stalks around the warehouse, thinking, trying to calm down and reason this through. It doesn’t help that he feels responsible; he’s part of Undyne’s crew, the ones that make sure the Family stays safe, their holdings secure, and their dealings smooth. He takes a deep breath, willing his magic to go down. You pass through his mind and that helps. Undyne is right. This is too smart. Calculated. He doesn’t know and hasn’t ever seen the Barber, just knowing his trademark. That seems to be the trend. He keeps a low profile otherwise. But he’s not a one-person gang. He shouldn’t be able to do this so cleanly. Right? He stops. Not without some kind of help.

He puts his hand on his hip and points at Undyne, asking, “do you think we have a rat?”

She scowls, distaste clear on her face. “It crossed my mind. I have no idea who it could be though.”

“we might’ve been putting our security in the wrong place then. we need it a bit closer to home.” Undyne nods in agreement. “and we’ve no idea where our stores have gone?”

“Everyone who woulda seen is dead or in the New Tartaglias.”

His frown deepens. “if we’re done, let’s check in with w.d.” She nods and gives orders to the small groups of monsters and humans. Clean up crew.

Sans holds out his hand and Undyne takes it. His eye flares to life and they disappear, dropping right into Gaster’s office. He and Papyrus are hunched over his desk, looking at blueprints and plans. They both look up, questions in their dark sockets.

Gaster speaks, most likely already knowing the answer to the question he asks. **“Same as last week?”**

Sans nods his head, letting go of Undyne’s hand to sit heavily in one of the chairs.

Gaster’s eyes flash before he leans back in his chair, steepling his long hands in front of his cracked face. **“I figured as much.”**

“undyne and i think we have a rat problem.”

Papyrus wrings his hands. “Why would someone do that? A lot of people have been killed because of this.”

Gaster looks more surprised than Sans has maybe ever seen him. As if the thought of betrayal is so far removed from the realm of possibility, such is his influence here. _That_ thought isn’t surprising, considering how full of himself Gaster is. Gaster gets up from his seat to pace around the room. Everyone follows his movements.

Undyne crosses her arms, saying, “If that’s the case, we need to make sure the ledger and details of shipments are guarded at all times. Know who goes in and out of meetings. The like.”

Gaster is incensed. **“They _are_ guarded at all times. They are in _my office_ ,” **he hisses.

“well someone is either sneaking in or eavesdropping, no bones about it." 

Gaster waves his hand sharply. **“Either way, we are getting to the bottom of this by any means necessary.”**

Sans grabs the top of his hat, taking it off his head and rolling it around his hands. “you been gettin’ heat from up on high, w.d.?”

**“If this is not resolved, and soon, we will.”**

“have they said anything?”

He folds his hands behind his back. **“They have expressed their condolences, and will be sending more to help. However, once I let them know of a possible traitor, we will quickly become a priority, I wager.”**

Papyrus grins. “Well, it will be nice to see them again!”

Sans and Undyne chuckle and Gaster’s mouth twitches for a second. **“Yes, well, you know how keeping up appearances go. They cannot always come around.”** He turns to Sans now. **“Which is why they might require your services should things escalate.”** Sans nods. Can’t exactly be seen entering the premises of a not extremely well-hidden ‘place of entertainment.’ Especially, if you’re trying to maintain a certain image to everyone else.

Gaster continues, **“It is a good thing our earnings for entertainment have gone up since ___ arrived. We are not short on supply, but if this keeps happening, we may have a problem.”**

Sans agrees silently. You have been bringing in a significant amount of business lately. Though it seems the moves you did for him your first night have set a precedent and too often, in Sans’ begrudging opinion, you have requests. Sometimes…impolite. Sans is _more_ than happy to throw any wise guys out. A similar occurrence had happened the night before last. You had been at the bar, taking a break with B.P. and another black-haired guy, when a man had come up to you, clearly a bit far gone. Sans knows, because he had been keeping an eye on you. He had seen you say no and turn away to get him to leave, but the man grabbed your arm, half-dragging you off the stool.

He hadn’t felt anger quite so clear and righteous in a long time.

He watched you reel back and punch the man in the face, letting you go for a moment. But his fury only amplified when the man tried again to take vicious hold of you. Sans saw the dark-haired man move to step in front of you, outraged.

But then he was there.

His hand like a vice around the man’s throat.

“i think they said no,” he had said, voice deathly low, pupils gone from his sockets.

The man tried to talk, mouth gaping like a fish, but Sans’ grip was too strong. Sans saw fear in his eyes. He got some satisfaction from that, but even more when he dragged the man outside by his neck, throwing him into the street. He went straight back to you, making sure you were ok. You had thanked him, sincerity and something else flashing in your eyes. Not fear. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but it seemed…deeper. Care? Concern, for him? He’s not sure.

But he does wish it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this might be a little late, but I hope you like! It's research paper time for meeeeeee
> 
> kill me
> 
> Come drink your sorrows with me: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	13. Avalon

It’s been several weeks since you’ve been at M’s. And that’s the reason why you’re so insistent as you tug on Sans’ arm.

“C’mon, Sans! Please?”

His smile widens against his will as he looks at you out of the corner of his eye. “didn’t i say it was dangerous still?”

You groan and throw your head back. “It’s _always_ going to be dangerous. He was my only family for a long time. I can’t just abandon him. He can’t do shit without me.” Sans bursts into laughter at that, deep chuckles echoing down the hall in rolling waves.

“i’m sure grillby will have somethin’ to say ‘bout that.”

 Your face lights up in excitement. “So does that mean we can go?”

“yeah, yeah, fine.”

You whoop and spin, jumping into the air. “I owe ya. Just name it.”

“yeah ya do. can’t think of anythin’ right now, but you can be sure i will.” You nod vigorously, eyes as bright as your smile, not caring what he may ask for. You’re just happy you’ll be visiting Grillby. You had called him a couple of times, but still hadn’t been back to see him. You’re not surprised by how much you miss him.

“c’mere.” Sans holds out his arm for you to step into. It snakes around your waist and you throw your arms around his shoulders. You’ve both gotten more comfortable with each other, both enjoying that closeness, unbeknownst to the other. You’ve had a lot of time to spend together, Sans making sure he’s not very far from you, just in case of anything. Even more so lately because of the Barber’s gang being so active. You find his presence comforting. You feel safe around him, trusting him more than you’ve trusted others, especially since he knows more about you than most now. He's always made your safety a priority and you respect a man who can keep his word. You hear his eye flare up, and you drop, reappearing in the alley behind Grillby’s. You let go of Sans and run to the backdoor, knocking rapidly. You hear stomping and your smile splits your face as the door bursts outward, revealing an incensed Grillby shouting, “What in the HELL–” But his raspy yell dies in his throat, his flames dimming, then blazing as he catches sight of you.

He starts toward you, raising his arms and you jump at him, hugging him tightly. “G!”

You hear his flames crackle and pop like a hundred firecrackers in your ear as he laughs, disbelieving. “___! Damn, it’s so good to see you.”

Sans speaks up from behind you. “they said you can’t do shit without ‘em.”

Grillby’s flames roar with his laughter as he squeezes you. “You would say that bullshit.” You laugh with him, rhythmic and boisterous.

He finally lets you go, ushering you and Sans inside. “C’mon in. Let’s get ya a couple of drinks.” You follow him out into the main bar, looking around with wide eyes. It looks good as new. Practically as it was, though a bit shinier. Which ain’t such a bad thing.

“The place looks great, G.”

“Yeah, they did a pretty good job of cleaning up their mess.” He chuckles at Sans, who smiles and shrugs.

“we deliver.”

Grillby pours out a couple of drinks for the three of you as you slide up onto a couple of stools at the empty bar. You watch and listen, interested, as Grillby asks, “Speaking of which,” he leans in close, voice a smoky whisper. “Is it true, what I’m hearin’ lately?”

Sans takes a casual sip of his drink before responding, “depends on what you’ve heard.”

The luminous flames that make up Grillby’s eyes flick over to you as he says, “That the Barber is raidin’ a certain organization’s stores.”

Sans is still acting nonchalant, inspecting his hand. But when he closes it, the bones of his knuckles crack and you see the white lights of his eyes flicker out. Grillby lets out a puff of smoke. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“got the names of the people who’ve been spreadin’ it?” Grillby snaps his fingers and leans against the countertop, pulling a slip of paper out of his back pocket. He slides it across the counter to Sans, who nods as he accepts it, tucking it inside his jacket.

“I’m good at keepin’ tabs.”

You smirk, chuckling into your drink. Grillby winks at you, and raises his glass to you both. You and Sans toast him and take swigs of your drinks. “So in regards to your ‘G can’t do shit without me,’ the bar has burned down a grand total of no times, thank you very much.”

You smile and flutter your eyelashes at him, teasing. “I’m impressed. It seems I’ve taught you well.”

He chuckles as he taps his chin. “In fact, ever since you’ve left, it’s been strangely quiet. I wonder why that is…”

“Aww, you miss me.”

Grillby sizzles in mirth. “Yeah, keep on thinkin’ that, sweetheart. But how is everything?” He points an accusing finger at Sans, who raises his browbones. “They treatin’ ya alright over there?”

You laugh and nod. “Yeah, it’s fine. Most everyone has been really nice so far.”

“Most everyone? Do I gotta go over there myself?”

“Nah, Sans has been keepin’ a pretty sharp eye out for me.” You nudge his shoulder with yours, smiling.

He grins. He and Grillby share an intense look. Gratitude is evident in Grillby’s voice as he responds, “Good to hear.”

The three of you chat and visit for a little while longer. You turn to catch a glimpse of the outside. It’s starting to get dark, shadows creeping long through the bar. You both should be getting back; you have a show tonight. Sans catches your drift and slides off his stool, you following his lead. Grillby trails you both, stepping out into the alley with you. He pulls you in for another hug.

“Thanks for comin’ by.”

You hate to be leaving so soon, your emotions getting the better of you. A few tears slip out of the corner of your eye, dissipating against Grillby’s flames with a hiss. He feels and hears it, hugging you tighter. You squeeze back before letting go, smile replacing the frown.

“I’ll be back, G.”

He waves, crackling. “Magnetic personality.”

You grab Sans’ hand and he tugs you close, eye lighting up. He waves to Grillby before you both disappear. Sans drops you both back in your room. Something inside you sighs in apathy at the sight. You chuckle a bit weakly, “One of these days you’ll have to show me your place instead.”

Sans laughs. “don’t think i’d mind that.”

You let go of his hand, reluctant. You smile at him, however. “Thanks for doing that, Sans. I know you didn’t have to.”

He shrugs, but his tone is serious. “i was happy to.” He watches you gather the things you’ll need for tonight. But he wonders something. “say, does grillby know about your parents?”

You nod, eyes glazing over as you fall into your memories. “Yeah. He practically took me in. He was there when the police told me.” You shake your head, dispelling the visions. “But it’s basically just you two bozos who know.”

He chuckles as he walks up to you, holding out his arm. “i’ll walk ya down.” You smile, taking it.

“Such a gentleman.”

“yep, and don’t ya forget it.”

He leads you down to the parlor, opening the door to an increasing crowd of people. You scan the room with Sans. Your eyes eventually roam across to the bar. There’s Tony in his usual spot, back to the bar, elbows resting on the counter as he watches the crowd with a relaxed air, not a care in the world. His hazel eyes brighten as he sees you and immediately perks up, waving to you. You wave back and Sans watches, pupils flickering. He steers you to the backstage.

“been meanin’ to ask ya, who is that guy? seen him around recently.”

“His name’s Tony. Came up to me my first night and said he liked my singing. He’s been nice. Kept away some of the assholes, so that’s a plus.”

Sans makes a noncommittal grunt. “lemme know if he gives ya any trouble.” You laugh and pat his arm, knowing _exactly_ what that means. “Don’t worry, I will.”

His strained grin lessens just a bit. But it disappears altogether, replaced by a genuine smile, when you reach up to press a kiss to his cheekbone. You straighten and pat his surprised skeletal face. “Really, don’t worry. Just remember, _you’re_ special _to me_.”

You chuckle at his stunned silence, stepping into your dressing room. “See ya later, Sans.” He gives you a dazed wave as you close the door. He walks back down the hall and out from backstage, still smiling from the kiss and admission. You don’t know it, but you’re special to him too. His bones rattle ominously when he feels eyes on him as he walks through the parlor. His lights glance over the bar, catching Tony looking at him. The warm feeling dims and his grin grows a bit colder as he continues to walk, exiting into the side building. He makes his way through the halls until he gets to Gaster’s office. He knocks and the door opens, closing behind him.

**“And to what do I owe the pleasure, Sans?”**

He pulls the slip of paper Grillby gave him as he steps up to Gaster’s desk. He watches Sans with an intrigued gaze, hands still scribbling notes. Sans holds out the paper.

“grillby heard some rumors. kept track of the names for us.” Gaster raises his eyebrow as he takes the proffered paper. He opens it, eyes trailing down the list with focused interest.

**“This should prove very helpful.”** Sans nods and turns to exit the office. He opens the door, but pauses, fingers gripping the dense wood. It creaks, a small whine to the background of paper shuffling.

“you can add another name to that list. tony. black hair. at the bar.”

Gaster is quiet for a moment and Sans hears the buzzing of his magic. He gives a vaguely amused huff when he responds, **“Trouble in paradise?”**

“just look into it,” he says as he closes the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for being so patient while I finished up the semester. Chapters will resume their normal schedule and I hope you enjoy! Love you all.
> 
> Come have a drink with me: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	14. Out of Nowhere

Break time. You wipe the back of your hand across your heated forehead as Sway waves to you. “I’ll be out there in a minute, chickadee.” 

You nod and make your way out from backstage, smiling and weaving your way through the patrons like an eel, getting used to the crowds more and more with every show. It’s still as electrifying as ever though. When you get to the bar, B.P. already has your regular waiting for you. He gives you a nod and a toothy smile before helping the other patrons. You slip onto a stool next to the casual form of Tony. He grins at you, raising up his glass. You toast it, glass clinking and the ice inside tinkling together in the amber liquid. Lord, it just sounds refreshing.

“Ya know, I think you’re losing your edge, everyone is practically asleep in here,” he teases with a wink.

You chuckle as you retort, “Oh yeah? Maybe you should lie down and get some beauty rest then, ya really look like ya need it.”

He leans toward you with a smirk lifting up his lips. “What if I did? I’ll have you know, self-love is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting.” You laugh, feeling as if you’ve heard that before. You wrack your brain, sifting through the sounds and words and turns of phrase so familiar you could recite them in your sleep.

“Is that…Shakespeare?”

His brows raise as his eyes widen in pleased surprise. His hazel eyes glitter in excitement. “You know Old Billy Shakes?”

You shrug, smiling and intrigued. “Some. My father read to me a lot. All sorts of things…,” you trail off as you remember. 

He grins. “He has good taste.” You nod, giving him a small smile. He continues, “We should talk more about that sometime. If you want to, that is,” he adds, almost nervous, rubbing his thickly-stubbled cheek. You laugh and say, “I’d like that.” He perks up and takes a sip of his drink.

“But, really, great job, as always,” he says.

You smirk, half-rolling your eyes. “Thanks, Tony.” You take a sip of your drink, thinking. “Speaking of jobs, what is it you do?”

“Little of this, little of that. Once was a valet for some fat cats. That was a pretty sweet gig. They got a bit big for their britches though, so I helped ‘em out, spread the wealth so to speak. Needless to say, they didn’t thank me.” He chuckles, crooked smile tilting his lips as he glances over at you. You laugh. “Then I worked at a butchers for a while.” His face wrinkles. “I’d rather eat the sausage than see what goes inside.”

You chuckle, teasing, “Ya like sausage, huh?”

He laughs loudly and deep, all the way from his toes it sounds like. It makes you laugh too. “Oh yeah. Long, thick, and juicy,” he says, winking. Your laughter increases, and you try to hide it in your drink. He grins, running a hand through his black hair as he takes another sip. “Basically, anything to keep my head afloat,” he says good-naturedly.

“I know that life,” you say, nodding.

“Hard to believe you’d do anything else but sing.” He’s looking at you know with that familiar focused gaze. Like he’s trying to figure you out, uncover something just for the pure delight in finding it.

“I mean, music was always part of my life. But musicians gotta eat too.”

He tilts his head, hazel eyes confused. “What about your family?”

You take a sip of your drink, staring deep into the whiskey, thinking about Grillby with attached fondness. “Not exactly traditional. Hasn’t been for a long time,” you offer, wanting to get off the subject.

You look back up at him when you feel his hand squeeze your bare shoulder. It’s strong and his calloused skin rubs along yours. He has a soft, apologetic smile on his face as he looks at you with kind eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

You flash him a faint smile. “It’s alright, you didn’t know.” His hand lingers for just a moment longer before letting you go. Suddenly, Sway pops up next to you, wrapping a long arm around your shoulders. You smile up at him.

“Sorry I’m late. Practically missed the whole break.” He motions to B.P. “Only got time for a nip, cool cat.” He looks back to you as B.P. pours his shot. “Big Johnny couldn’t find his trombone. How you lose a damn three-foot metal tube beats me.” You burst into laughter, the ridiculous idea tickling you, just imagining Big Johnny running around like a chicken with its head cut off. He chuckles with you before looking over at Tony, who’s smiling at your laughter and listening, eyes gleaming and interested. Sway extends his hand. “Don’t believe we’ve met, the name’s Sway.”

Tony grabs his hand, shaking it as he grins. “Tony.”

Sway nods. “Well thanks for keepin’ this one outta trouble while I was gone.” He pinches your cheek. You swat away Sway’s hand with a laugh. Tony looks over to you again, locking his hazel eyes with you.

“No trouble at all.”

Your eyebrows raise the slightest bit as Sway downs his shot and leads you off the stool. You wave to Tony and B.P. and walk off to the backstage again with Sway, his arm still around your shoulders.

“Been seein’ a lotta that guy lately.”

You shrug. “Yeah he comes in a lot, I guess. Maybe he’s got nothin’ better to do than listen to you pound on them keys.” Sway barks out a shocked laugh.

“Please! I don’t _pound_. I stroke ‘em real nice,” he says with a low, sexy voice. You giggle as he tugs you closer. His voice loses the playful tone, replaced by a more contemplative one. “But between you and me, he’s been givin’ you them bedroom eyes.”

You pull away to look up at Sway skeptically. “What? Please, Sway.” He cuts you off, holding up his hand.

“All I’m sayin’ is be careful, chickadee. Sometimes people only want one thing and will do anythin’ to get it. I know ya can handle yoself, though.” You sigh, at once dubious and thankful.

“Thanks for lookin’ out for me, Sway. ‘Preciate it.” His lanky arm hugs you to his side and you hug him back.

Back to business.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Papyrus and Sans are walking through the halls, their footfalls echoing sharply in the deserted corridors. W.D. assigned them more security duties until they’ve caught whoever has been stealing information from the trade plans. Sans would much rather be watching you perform, but duty calls. As long as you and everyone else is safe, he’s not going to put up a fuss.

“Do you think we will catch whoever has been doing this, brother?”

“hope so. though i think we’re bein’ too idle. rats like cheese. we gotta set somethin’ juicy up i think.”

Papyrus’ eyes gleam in excitement as he raises his fist. “Like a trap!”

Sans nods, smiling. “could use some of your puzzle-makin’ skills, paps.”

“Do you think W.D. will go for it?”

“i think he’s willin’ to try anything at this point.”

“Yes. He has been rather…grumpy as of late.” He leans down to whisper to Sans. “As if he was not before, nyeh.”

Sans busts into a loud laugh that reverberates throughout the hall. Papyrus joins him, higher timbre mixing in a strange harmony, straightening back up to his full height. But they both jump back when a frantic Madjick appears in front of them.

Their scared and rippling voice sets them both on edge, a surge of alarm igniting Sans’ eye. “Sans, Papyrus! It’s happening again. I _just_ got away! You need to come quick!” they squeal. 

Sans growls out, “ _where_?”

They sputter, “W-w-wharf Five!”

Sans turns to a shocked Papyrus, asking hurriedly, “where’s undyne?”

“Parlor at the front!”

He jerks his thumb to the Madjick, spitting out orders. “take him and get w.d. undyne and i’ll go on ahead.”

Papyrus nods, ready for action. He grabs the Madjick, who yelps, and sprints down the hall, yelling over his shoulder, “Be careful, brother!”  

Sans immediately teleports to the front of the parlor. He turns, eyes registering you vaguely on the stage. He feels his soul twist at the sight, but pushes it away, instead spotting Undyne. He steps quickly over to her and grabs her hand. Her brow furrows in anger as she looks down, “What the hell?!”

Sans cuts her off, growling, eye flaming, “no time, get ready.”

And they disappear.

When they reappear it’s outside of Wharf Five, one of their storehouses. Shouts and gunfire ring out in the otherwise calm night, like blasting thunder in the silence. Undyne jerks her hand out of Sans’ grip, breathing hard. She’s about to start yelling but she finally notices the fight and stiffens.

Sans reaches for his gun, deft fingers making sure it’s loaded. “hope you have your gun, ‘cause shit’s going down.”

She pulls out her own gun and a glowing blue spear materializes in her other hand, promising swift vengeance and lingering pain. “Oh, don’t worry. I got more than enough weapons.”

They both steal away around to the side of the warehouse. One of the Barber’s men is standing outside the door on alert. They need to keep the element of surprise. No guns yet. Sans materializes a long, white bone, sharp tip gleaming viciously in the moonlight. He whips his arm out and shoots it with dreadful accuracy, sleeve snapping from the force of his throw. It whistles through the torn air, finding it’s home deep in the man’s chest with a muffled crack. He never knew what hit him as he collapses with a heavy thud. He and Undyne jog noiselessly over to him and Sans picks up his chopper. They flank the door and look through the window. It’s not good. At least their men are putting up a good fight. Sans curses under his breath. It had been too quiet for the past couple of weeks. This was bound to happen again. As long as the rat is still out there, it’ll continue to happen. It was only a matter of time before their own measures slipped up too. 

He looks over to Undyne. She nods, eye furious and blazing nearly as much as his. “Let’s do it.”

And they slide inside, the door shutting with a dull click.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *laughs evilly*
> 
> Join your Mob Boss Host for a drink: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	15. I Cover the Waterfront

After you’re done with your set for the night, you head out from backstage, exhaustion threading through you as easily as alcohol. You’d missed Sans tonight and wanted to see if you could find him, if only to say hey before passing out. But as you’re walking to the side door, Tony catches up to you. “Hey, ___.” You turn and smile, wondering what he’s still doing around.

“Hey, Tony. What’s shakin’?”

He grins at you and asks, “You gotta sweet tooth?”

You chuckle and tilt your head in curiosity. “I’ve been known to.”

“What would ya say we get outta here and I can treat ya to some bonafide gelato?”

You raise a brow at the offer. You do love ice cream and you really haven’t been out of M’s in a long time. When you think about it, it’s been a good few weeks, except for that time seeing Grillby. You mull over Sans’ warning though. Is it really still dangerous out there? It seems like the gang has their sights on bigger things than one person. But…the temptation to go outside wins in the end. Plus, it’s not like you’ll be going alone, you reason. Tony has been really kind and has proven he cares about your safety, if his reaction to bad patrons is any indication. What could hurt?

You nod and smile, easing the nervousness off Tony’s face. “Sure. Let me just go to my room real quick.”

“No problem. I’ll be out here.”

You make your way upstairs quickly and change into some darker, more comfortable clothes. You also grab your gun and slide it into your holster, just in case. You head back down and step out of the door. Tony sees you and pushes off the wall, smiling. You start to walk out with him, but a shout rings out from behind, stopping you. You and Tony turn around to see Sway striding over to you with a purpose.

“Hey, chickadee. Where ya goin’?”

“Just out for a snack, is all.” Sway’s brow raises and he shines a ridiculously wide smile as he puts an arm around your shoulder.

“Mind if I borrow ‘em for a sec, yeah, thank ya kindly,” he croons before leading you several feet away.

His voice turns insistent and low with concern. “Whadya think you’re doin’?”

You’re taken aback by his change in tone. “What? I don’t see any harm in it. I’ve been cooped up here a long time, too. I need to get out sometimes,” you defend.

“It’s dangerous, chickadee.”

“I can handle myself. I’ve got my gun, and I’m with someone I can trust.”

His eyes darken as well, following his words. “Ya sure ‘bout that?”

You frown. “He didn’t have to protect me from those assholes, ya know. But he did.”

“I don’t think Sans’d like this.”

That gives you pause, but anger follows hot on its heels like a hound after a coon. “Y’all aren’t my keepers, alright? I really appreciate the concern, but I’m my own person, too.” He frowns. “Sway, c’mon,” you entreat, giving him your best puppy-dog eyes. “Just this once. I’ll be alright, I promise.”

He growls under his breath, running a hand over his head, throwing you a piteous look. “Ah geez, don’t look at me like that, ___...,” he pleads. You continue to look at him like that. He throws back his head and groans. “Fine, fine, fine,” he points at you. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” He leads you back over to a patiently-waiting Tony.

Tony says, “I promise I’ll bring ‘em back safe and sound. You have my word.”

Sway mutters darkly, uncharacteristically unfriendly, “Ya better, slick.” He lets you go, shoving his long hands deep into his pockets. He watches you walk out, mood plummeting. Sans isn’t gonna like this one bit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The noise is deafening, yells and the pings of bullets ricocheting off the metal walls ring vibrantly in the warehouse. Sans and Undyne sneak around the towers of boxes, crouching low, both heading to the stairs. They need to get a bit higher to get the lay of the land. A man bolts out from in front of one of the crates, not even noticing them. He’s desperate to get out. Undyne has other plans. She grabs the man’s jaw, claws digging into his face and smashes it into the crate with a snarl. Sans hears a sharp crack and knows it’s over. The man accordions into himself and slumps down onto the floor, life exiting him in haste. They push forward, not sparing a second glance. Once they get to the stairs, Sans turns around to keep an eye out. They’re in the line of sight now.

“Up there! The stairs!”

“ah, shit,” Sans curses, spotting the Barber’s men pointing at them. He hefts the chopper, sending a spray of bullets to push them back. He shouts to Undyne, “go! i’ll meet ya at the top!” She sprints up the stairs, three steps at a time. He takes a moment to look up, finding cover. He spots an alcove. There. He disappears before the men can shoot back. Undyne sees him reappear at the top, sliding next to him in the small space. Bullets trace their journey, searching desperately for flesh or bone to enter. Undyne glances at him with a luminescent yellow eye.

“You ready?”

“yep.”

“Scatter ‘em.”

Sans’ own eye blazes as he steps out from behind the corner. He raises his hands, like he’s pulling a monstrous weight. And he is, because a wave of savagely sharp bones explode from the floor, spreading like a deadly ripple, tripping some, impaling others. For the ones who evaded, Undyne rains down a hail of blue spears, catching a few more.

But suddenly everything goes black.

The lights didn’t fail. Rather, the atmosphere did, the light swallowed by an unimaginable blackness that creeps and pulses with a slogging bulk. The air buzzes and Sans hears men shouting, in sharp fear and anger that roils, just as poisonous and infecting as the void surrounding them.

“He’s here, we gotta move!”

“Get outta here, go, go!”

Some shouts turn into garbled screams, but are cut off just as swiftly. And then it’s quiet except for the incessant buzzing. The dark retreats and Gaster steps out of it, effortless. Papyrus jogs in through the side. Their own men step out from behind their places of cover. While this shouldn’t have happened at all, Sans is at least glad some of their men survived this time. He follows Undyne downstairs, coming up beside Gaster.

**“Good job. They were considerably less successful this time, thankfully.”**

“This can’t keep happening though,” Undyne mutters.

**“Agreed.”**

Sans holsters his gun and takes off his hat to wipe his skull. “do ya got any leads, w.d.?”

Gaster’s hands clench behind his back. **“Some. Nothing concrete, however.”** Sans huffs. This must be eating at Gaster, that he can’t figure it out. What a blow to his ego.

“it’s only a matter of time before they slip up.” Sans turns to Papyrus, smirking. “hey paps. tell w.d. your idea.”

Papyrus grins and cackles, turning to talk to W.D. Undyne turns to Sans briefly, saying, “Could you go back and hold down the fort while we take care of things here?” He nods. She claps a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for watching my back.”

He chuckles. “’course. no skin off my nose,” he says as he taps the space where his nose would be. She just rolls her eyes and smiles. His eye comes to life and he drops, falling back into the parlor of M’s. It’s quiet, being late and after hours. He spies Sway at the bar with B.P. He’s a bit surprised you’re not with them. B.P. and Sway turn as they notice him walking up. He sees Sway’s eyes widen, face drawn and anxious. He’s immediately put on alert, but he tries to keep his wits about him.

“heya boys.” They nod their greetings. “seen ___ anywhere?” Sway turns away and takes a long sip from his glass.

“I’ve seen ‘em, sure,” he offers, but nothing more.

Sans waits. When he realizes nothing else is forthcoming, he asks pointedly, “well? where are they?”

Sway mutters something under his breath that Sans doesn’t catch. After everything that’s happened tonight, his temper is wearing thin. He just wants to see you. “what was that?”

“Said they’re…out.”

Sans’ sockets widen, his pupils darkening. His magic ebbs, then flows rapidly, coiling tight from anger and concern in his bones. He grinds out, voiced pitched low, “what do you mean _out_?”

Sway rolls his glass around in his hands, ice tinkling from his shaking. “I mean they went out.”

“ _alone?_ ” Sans asks, his anger mounting.

“No. But I wouldn’t get too comfy ‘bout that. They’re with Tony,” he says disdainfully, glaring daggers into his drink.

Sans feels his pupils extinguish, those same flames of life surging into his left eye. His anger and dismay come to a head, bottle-necking at the information.

“ _w h a t?!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really just like to tease ya guys. 
> 
> Sorry this is a bit late. Went home to visit family for the weekend and haven't had much time to write or edit. But it doesn't mean you'll be without content! I'll get back on the stick after tomorrow. As always, thanks for EVERYTHING <3 
> 
> Y'all mean a whole helluva lot to me. 
> 
> Mob Boss Host Variety Drinking Hour: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	16. These Foolish Things

Tony leads you out onto the still-bustling street. Though the blanket of night has swept thorough and swift through the city, it’s not truly sleeping. It never really does. The hazy neon lights and bright headlights from the multitude of cars and taxis mutate the otherwise calm darkness into something breathing, alive, and oftentimes deceitful. But, god, if it doesn’t feel wonderful with the promise of freedom right now. Your eyes break from the raucous spectacle to look over at Tony. He breathes deep the relatively fresher air and looks over to you, teeth flashing in a crooked smile. He brushes his black hair back and sets his newsboy secure atop his head, then extends his arm.

“Shall we?”

You chuckle and take it, wrapping your hands around his jacketed arm. You both walk down the street, breeze stirring the dust and trash and leaves in small eddies about your ankles. You’ll take it though. It’s not often the wind likes to stop by, not in this city and certainly not in between these buildings. Maybe it’s not its cup of tea, but you think that maybe it wouldn’t even be welcomed if it did, such is the gritty nature of the town you call home.

Tony brings you out of your head, asking, “So how long ya been living in New Ebott?”

“My whole life.” He nods, smiling and glancing down at you. “What about you?”

“The same. Left for a time when I was younger. But guess I couldn’t get it out of my blood.” You laugh and pat his arm.

“Definitely know what you mean. Come from a long line of city-dwellers.”

“Oh yeah?” he inquires.

“Mhmm. Here and over the sea.”

He hums, interested. But a thoughtful and curious look passes over his face like a cloud over the sun. “So, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but what were your parents like?” he asks softly, kindness coating his deep voice, promising safety.

You pause, taken back by both the question itself and Tony’s interest. You almost _don’t_ want to answer, but…it’s not that you don’t like thinking about your parents. On the contrary, you don’t think a day goes by in which you don’t think about them in some form or another, whether it’s stinging longing or that sort of fond reminiscence that takes you back years, right into the sunlit living room you all shared so often together. As you sift through your thoughts, you think that maybe this might be one of those times. That feeling colors your voice, evening your tone into one of memory and love as you say, “I don’t mind. They were…great. The best.” You smile, looking out over the roaring cars and whistling wind. It caresses, gathering up your words like a treasure. “They were teachers at the same school. My mom was the music teacher. She was so fiery. And she loved her students. When there weren’t enough instruments to go around, she fought tooth and nail for the funds to get more.”

Tony laughs, eyes glittering in mirth. “Sounds like you.”

You throw him a content, grateful smile as you continue, “My father taught English and literature. Hence the Shakespeare knowledge.” He nods, lips lifting. “He was passionate. He’d put on plays for us, for his students. And he’d read to me,” you add.

Tony asks, “What did he read you?”

“A lot. Prose and poetry. Didn’t matter. Whatever he loved.” Your hands tighten against Tony’s arm almost involuntarily. “And I loved it all, too.” His hand comes up to lay over yours, squeezing with a burning warmth.

He glances down at you, eyes alight with gratitude. “Thanks for sharing.” You smile and blink back the threat of tears, chuckling a bit as you shrug.

“Feel like I’d be pretty cold if I didn’t ever want to talk about them,” you say weakly.

“Nah. You feel how you feel. But,” he leans over to you,” speaking of cold, we’re here.” He gestures widely to a small, unassuming storefront. The wide windows are decorated with faded black letters etched in even more decaying gold. It says:

_**GELATERIA** _

Rusting iron scrollwork graces the façade with an old finesse that recalls different times and far flung places. You grin, your excitement lifting just from the love of the outside. Tony looks over to you, matching your expression. You let go of his arm as he steps up to open the door for you. You smile at him as you pass and he tilts his capped head in response, following you inside. The diminutive golden bell tinkles your arrival. It’s not crowded, but it’s certainly not empty. The varied voices of couples and groups of people ring out as loudly as the bell at the door. It provides a unique background to the luminous and colorful inside. A pair of voices raise above the clamor, yelling, “ _Benvenuto_!” You turn your head to a small, older couple behind the counter. Their olive-toned faces are wrinkled and kissed as much by the sun as by laughter. They gesture over you and Tony, smiles lifting their wrinkles and brightening their eyes. The woman calls Tony down to her level over the counter and he bends, receiving the pinches and pats on the cheek she gives him. He laughs, telling her hello and laying his large hand over her own. The man chatters and looks over to you, throwing his arms wide. He extends his hand over the bar and, laughing, you give him your hand. He takes it and brings it up to place a kiss over your knuckles. You blush and burst into laughter, taking your hand back once he releases it. Tony straightens and turns his head to you, face split into a joyful grin.

“What would you like?” he asks, the man and woman patiently waiting.

You scan the vibrantly-hued cold treats. They all look delicious, the colors hypnotic, kaleidoscopic. You glance up to Tony. “You’ve been here before. Surprise me,” you answer with a smile.

He chuckles and turns to the couple, holding up two fingers as he says, “ _Due limoni_.” The wizened man claps his hands and opens the little door to the cooler. He scoops two cups full of a vivid yellow confection.

“ _Per l’uomo bello_ ,” he hands one to Tony, “ _e la bellezza_ ,” he coos with a waggle of his bushy eyebrows as he hands you yours. You’re not sure what he said, but just his manner is enough to make you giggle.

Tony chuckles and says, “ _Grazie_ ,” as you say, “Thank you.” The man smiles and responds, “ _Prego_.” You start to pull out your money, but Tony shakes his head smiling. 

“Get that outta here,” he says with a wink, pushing the tiny bundle away. You roll your eyes as you huff, pouting, “Thanks, Tony.”

“My pleasure,” he says sincerely. He turns to the small woman and asks, “ _Quanto costa_?”

She shakes her head and gestures to you two, saying sweetly, “ _Divertiti_.” You raise your eyebrows in surprise and look to Tony. He has a similar expression, appreciation lining his face strongly. He takes up one of her hands, clasping it before letting go and shaking the man’s hand next in silent thanks. You follow Tony’s lead at the counter and then outside. The cup is cold in your hands as you look up at him.

“That was incredibly nice of them.”

He nods, smile serious and soft. “It was. They’re good people. I’ll pay ‘em back somehow.” He bumps your shoulder with his. “Now, try it and tell me what ya think,” he says excitedly. You laugh and dig your spoon in, taking an enthusiastic bite. Flavor explodes, bright and sweet and sour all at once in a dazzling display for your tastebuds. It’s unbelievably creamy, dissipating gloriously on your palate. You close your eyes and sigh and you hear Tony laugh at your expression. You open your eyes back up and meet his pleased hazel ones.

“Wow.”

He continues to laugh as he eats his. You both start walking back, shoes scuffing along the worn concrete. “Glad you like it. Best gelato in town.”

“I believe it.” You wave your spoon at him slyly. “What I don’t believe is that you know Italian.”

His laughter boils as he shrugs. “Better believe it, _cara_.”

“Are you fluent?” you ask as you take another bite of your dessert.

“More or less,” he responds, lips still upturned.

“Good skill to have,” you muse. You kind of wish you were fluent in another language. It might help, especially here, considering the diverse array of cultures that reside here. You just know some random phrases from friends of yours and your family. You and Tony walk in companionable silence as you finish your gelato. When your spoon scrapes the bottom desperately, you find yourself genuinely sad it’s all gone. Tony chuckles, catching your pathetic look. You grin up at him. “Guess I’ll just have to go back for more sometime.”

His hazel eyes glitter as brightly as his smile. “Guess so. I just might join ya.”

You laugh, smile mischievous as you tease, “Ya sure you should?” patting his abdomen. In reality, and to your chagrin, he could probably eat there everyday as still be as trim as a seam. He throws back his head in boisterous laughter, clutching the abdomen you so lovingly drew attention to. You join him, meeting his elated gaze. When he regains a margin of his composure, his hand points to your blouse.

“Well at least I don’t have gelato on my shirt.” Your eyes grow wide as you look down quickly. Your brow furrows as you spy nothing, but start when his finger taps your nose.

He smirks. “Made ya look.” Now it’s your turn to be taken by a gut-busting laugh.

You catch your breath, gasping, “I can’t believe I fell for that.” He chuckles as you both come to a halt outside of M’s.

He says with a smile as he takes your cup from your hand, “Two can play this game.” He looks up, smile faltering a bit, at the large pink and silver neon sign. “Guess this is your stop.”

You nod, turning to him. You hold out your arms and move to give him a hug. He meets you, bending slightly and wrapping you in a tight embrace. You can smell him as his black locks brush across your face, fresh spices and earthy smoke. It’s nice, like being at home almost, dinner cooking, your father smoking on the porch. You say, “Thanks for a good time, Tony. It was nice to get out.” You mean it. You like hanging out with Tony, feeling the fondness that a budding new friendship offers with open hands and arms and hearts.

He squeezes you before letting go, sticking one hand in his pocket. “I’m glad you had fun. If you ever wanna get out again, well, I’m your man.”

You chuckle, waving. “Thanks. Get back home safe, wherever you live.”

He tips his hat, eyes and smile gleaming in the dark. “Will do. Good night, ___.”

“Night, Tony,” you say, walking inside. Tony stays and watches until you disappear inside.

~~~~~~~~

You enter the parlor and are met by an anxious Sway. “Glad to see ya got back in one piece.”

You cock an eyebrow at his behavior. “Said I was gonna be fine. What’s got ya so rattled?”

“The skeleton, that’s what.” Your eyes widen and you blanche, your stomach dropping. Good feelings gone, like sense from a drunk man. Guess Sway was right. He was not gonna like this.

“Where is he?” you ask, apprehensive.

He shrugs. “Dunno. Stormed off a little while ago. He’s not peachy, chickadee.”

You nod, mind racing. You need to confront him. You don’t know where to look first though. Maybe it’s something you’ll have to deal with in the morning. “Thanks, Sway. I’ll set things right. Sorry if he yelled at you.”

He gives you a small smile. “Don’t worry. Just take care of yourself, chickadee.” He ushers you to the side door. “Get on up there.”

You wave weakly. “Night, Sway.” He waves back. You make your way through the ominously silent halls, tense, on edge, waiting for him to appear at any moment. But he doesn’t and as you get to your place, you think you’re just going to have to see him later. You unlock your door and step inside, taking your gun out of its holster as you go. But the door flies shut with a deafening slam. You yelp and whip around, heart pounding, throwing your armed hand in a wide arc to face whatever did that. But the gun slips out of your hand of its own will.

And into the outstretched hand of Sans.

It lands with a dull clatter against the bones of his hand, glinting blue and yellow from his eye. He empties the chamber and cylinders with a practiced ease, eye never leaving your shocked face. He isn’t smiling though. His anger rolls off him in harsh waves, making you sick to your stomach.

“Sans…,” you gasp out finally.

“that’s my name, don’t wear it out,” he growls, no humor in his low voice.

You sigh and hold up your hands, saying, “Before you yell at me, let me explain.”

He sweeps his arm out, the one holding your gun, sarcastically responding, “please. i’d _love_ to hear it.”

You bristle at his tone, but keep your anger down for now. It won’t help. “I just went out to get a snack. I needed to get out. I’ve barely seen the outside, Sans. I know it’s still dangerous –" 

“ _no shit_ ,” he snarls, voice cutting dagger-like not only into the tense atmosphere, but also into your heart and patience.

You snap back, “Ya gonna let me finish?” He crosses his arms and glares at you. But at least he’s silent for now. “I know it’s dangerous, but I had my gun and I was with someone.”

He growls again, low and deadly. Just the mention of _him_ is enough to send his magic and anger to rage, making the flames of his eye grow. He doesn’t understand. Why on earth would you go out with _him_? Part of him tries in vain to convince himself it’s not like that, but the rest vastly overwhelms any sensibility and he _hates it_. He starts pacing around the room, looming, frustrated, furious. “yeah. _tony_.”

“Yeah, it was Tony. So what? I don’t like him like that, so get your head out of your bony ass, Sans,” you bark. His sockets widen, his glare lessening the slightest bit.

He pauses in his circling, staring at the ground, shoulders hunched from tension. “you don’t?” he forces out.

“No,” you sigh, heart tugging at the sound of his voice. “Yeah I was stupid, but so are you. I told you once.” You walk over to him. “You’re special to me, alright?” He glances over at you, pupils coming back. You’re glad to see them again. You don’t like seeing him angry, much less at you. “So if you’re gonna yell at me for anything, yell at me for going out. Not for stupid shit that doesn’t even matter.”

He exhales heavily. “well, ya better believe i’m still mad as hell about that.”  

You cross your arms and look away, resigned. “You at least listened to me. So go ahead, rip me a new one.”

He stares off for a minute, before looking at you hard. “i don’t think you understand just how dangerous it was for you to be out there tonight.”

“Not anymore than any other night,” you defend. He glares at you again. You back off, saying, “Sorry. I’ll let you finish.”

“there was another raid tonight. _all_ of them were out in _force_.” Your eyes widen, and you stiffen in concern. You start toward him, looking him up and down. You reach out, but hesitate touching him. You don’t know if he wants contact from you, especially when he’s so upset with you.

“Sans, geez, are you ok?”

He waves his hand. “i’m fine.” But he moves and captures your outstretched one. “i was worried that you weren’t,” he admits, voice thick from his temper and distress. “i don’t fucking care how careful tony is with you. there’s no way he could’ve saved his skin or, more importantly, yours if you ran into the barber’s men.” He pulls you close to him, looking down seriously into your wide eyes. “i’m supposed to protect you, but i can’t do that if you pull shit like this.”

Your fingers grip his and your other hand comes up to rest against his chest. He hums at your touch, a deep rumble that you feel against your palm like the heat from a flame. “Sans…I’m sorry. I didn’t know….” You look down and step closer, sliding your arms around his broad torso in a hug. You know you fucked up. You just want to stop being angry, on both sides. You hate him being mad at you and vice versa. It feels wrong; like the world, _your_ world, is off-kilter. You sigh when he wraps his arms around you as well. He lowers his skull, head resting solid against yours.

He whispers, respirations hot on your neck, “i just want you safe.” You respond by squeezing him to you tighter. He encompasses you, that pine scent thick and heady, leading you through a dense forest in the dry, thawing heat of summer. You hold each other for what seems like a long time. It stretches wide like a desert, greedily absorbing anything and everything that’s not you and Sans, like lusted-after water. Eventually, Sans’ grip lessens and you both release each other. Your hands move to lay on his vest while his come to rest on your shoulders. His eye-lights burn into your eyes.

“i’m sorry for gettin’ so mad. and scaring you.”

“I’m sorry too.”

“you just gotta be _careful_. life ain’t what it used to be. it’s easy to get killed. most often from stupid decisions.”

“I’ll be careful,” you assure him. His smile comes back and you feel the tension leave your body somewhat.

“i gotta go make sure everything’s copacetic around the place. but get coffee with me in the mornin’, alright?”

Your chuckle wavers, tired from everything that’s happened tonight. “Sounds great. If I’m not awake when you come by, go ahead and wake me up.”

He grins. “you underestimate my ability to sleep.”

You pat his chest. “But I don’t have a roommate.” Sans chuckles, but doesn’t say he’d gladly be your roommate.

His hands rub up and down your shoulders before he lets you go. He says, “get some sleep, sweetheart.”

“You too when you can. See ya in the morning.”

He walks to your door and opens it. Just as he’s about to step through, you call out, “Sans!” He turns, interested, and watches you cross the room. You step up to him and pull him down gently by his tie. His sockets widen then close as you lift yourself, placing your lips on his cheekbone. You linger for a moment before letting go of his tie and pulling away. He opens his sockets lazily and his hand comes up to cup your cheek briefly before stroking along your jaw. You shiver, truly enjoying the way the bones of his hand slide along your skin. “night,” he mutters.

“Night,” you say as he walks away down the hall, steps echoing a disembodied presence through the halls.

Then fading into the hushed night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to tease ya, but I also like to please ya, so here's a longer chapter, BBs. I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Cheers.
> 
> Mob Boss Host Variety Drinking Hour (with extra doodles): ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	17. The Nearness of You

Soft skin. Hard bone. Laughs that turn into moans with every thrust of his hips. His tongue drags over your flushed chest, until he gets to your throat. He bites down and he eats up your wild gasps. Your fingers grab his ribs and he groans, picking up the pace. He feels you move beneath him, meeting him and he knows you’re close. He’s right behind you…. 

“SANS WAKE UP!”

He shoots up in bed, sweat beading on his brow. He’s shaking as he drags a hand down his face. You’re still there in his mind. Papyrus pounds on his door even harder.

“SANS!”

He mumbles, “fuck,” as he wills his magic to extinguish. A hefty sigh exits him when his eye returns to normal, the blue light fading back into darkness. He yells, “alright, alright, paps. i’m up.”

He slides out of bed, stretching the sleep from his bones. He wishes he could finish that dream, but no cigar. Not yet. He’ll just have to wait for the real thing. He opens the curtains, letting in that hot and hazy morning light. Motes dance in the beams as he rolls up the sleeves to his blue shirt. He throws on his vest and shoulder holsters, that familiar weight easing his pent-up mind. He crosses his room to open the door. Papyrus is standing in the living room with his arms crossed.

“It is about time!”

Sans just grins and shrugs. “was havin’ a good dream. time is it anyway?”

“Almost nine!” Papyrus says excitedly. Sans throws back his head and groans. “You cannot sleep all day, brother. As much as you would like to.”

“well, i need coffee. go ahead, gonna get ___ up to join us.”

“Great idea!” he shouts as he strides out the front door. Sans follows him and locks up, heading downstairs to your floor. He approaches your weathered door and knocks. He listens. Nothing. He raps his knuckles against the wood once more, a bit louder. They echo discordantly through the hushed hallway.

“rise and shine, sweetheart,” he calls. This time he hears the shuffling of fabric and a dull thump, followed by a pitiful groan. He chuckles. So graceful. He stands back as he hears you cross the room to the door. It opens and reveals a disheveled you. Your hair is mussed and your eyes are tired, but he loves it. It’s a disheveled made sexy by being completely unashamed. He wouldn’t mind waking up to that every morning.

“Morning, Sans,” you say, voice deeper from sleep.

“hey there.” You step back and motion him inside. You yawn as he closes the door.

“You can wait in here while I get ready. Ya cool with that?” He nods, grinning. You give him a thumbs up and stumble to your closet, grabbing clothes and a towel. “I’ll be out soon.”

“take your time,” he responds, watching you disappear into the bathroom. He walks around your room, shoes scuffing along the hardwood. It’s still bare. He wonders why you haven’t done much with it. Maybe you don’t want to get too comfortable, in the hopes you one day leave. _He_ hopes you don’t though. But, on the other hand, maybe you just aren’t that type of person. He’s curious what your other apartment was like. He thinks he understands though. If this is all you see, this and the parlor, he can understand your want and need to get out. Especially if you don’t consider this home. While lazy, he doesn’t care to be cooped up either. Maybe all you need is to feel comfortable. He wracks his mind to see how he can help, moving by your desk as he does so. One of the drawers is ajar and it catches his eye. He turns his head to the bathroom to listen for you. The shower is still going and he can hear you humming. It makes him smile. But he glances back down at the drawer. He can’t see much, but he can make out a black leather case. His hand moves, almost by its own volition to press gently down on it. Whatever is inside is hard. Round, like tubes. His fingers flit over the fabric. Three. His curiosity is piqued, but he doesn’t try farther. It’s your stuff and it’ll stay your stuff. He steps back, sticking his hands in his pockets. The shower has shut off in the meantime and he props himself against the wall, just listening to you. You eventually open the door and step out, pinning up your wet hair away from your face. You look more awake and refreshed, and, by the Rune, just beautiful.

You smile brightly at him. “Sorry if I kept you waiting.”

“no bones about it,” he says as he grins. “ya ready, sweetheart?”

Your smile grows as you nod and walk over to him. He holds out his arm and you take it, fingers wrapping strongly around the bare bones. He sighs at the contact. You marvel at the feeling of his forearm as you both step outside your apartment, locking it behind you. His bones are dense and equal amounts of cool and warm, shifting like the sunlight. They thrum underneath your skin, buzzing with life and, you assume, magic. Your fingers stroke them discreetly, exploring the rough and smooth texture. Not discreet enough, because Sans notices, his hands clenching at the touch. He bites back a tiny groan. It really feels amazing. He wants you to do it everywhere, but he fights himself to be content with just this for now.

But he does move his other hand to lay it on top of yours. You look up at him, smiling, and he grins down at you. His thumb strokes your skin, much in the same way you were feeling his arm. Like last night, you enjoy the feeling of his bones against your skin. His touch makes a small heated blush rise to your cheeks and he also doesn’t miss it, though you try to hide it by keeping your face forward. You both walk out into the parlor where Papyrus sits at a table with three cups of coffee. You and Sans sit down with him.

“Morning, Paps,” you say. He beams at you.

“Good morning, human! I am glad you are well.”

You nod, chuckling, and eagerly reach for the coffee cup, the heat leeching into your hands. You bring it up to your lips, breathing deep that delicious roasted scent. You take a sip and immediately sigh when it hits your tongue. Sans does the same, but much less reverently.

You look over to Papyrus, saying, “Glad to see you’re ok too.” Your voice lowers. “Sans told me what happened.”

Papyrus glances over at Sans, raising a brow as he nods. He leans towards you, pushing aside his coffee. You echo his movement. “Yes. The raids have continued.” He focuses on Sans now, who meets his gaze. “Should we tell them?” Sans looks down at his coffee for a moment, contemplating. Papyrus continues, suggesting, “Maybe they could even help?” The lights of Sans’ eyes dim as they flick to meet Papyrus’.

“don’t want ‘em gettin’ wrapped up in that stuff.”

“Right here, boys,” you drawl as you prop your head on your fist. “Too late for that anyway. Got wrapped up when I saved your bony ass from being pumped full o’ lead.” Sans rolls his eyes, but can’t help the grin from spreading across his face, albeit reluctantly. He crosses his arm, waving his hand about, like he’s throwing away a rotten hand of cards, knowing he’s lost.

“go ahead.”

Papyrus nods. “We believe there is someone helping the New Tartaglias.”

Your face lifts in surprise. “A rat? Geez….” You lean forward, serious now. “Do you need someone to keep an eye out?”

Papyrus’ face brightens as Sans’ falls. They look to each other, mulling over the offer. Something intangible but heavy passes between the two of them and Sans concedes, sitting back in his chair. Papyrus looks back to you. “We would be very grateful if you did!”

Sans faces you now, finger tapping the table roughly, eyes burning into yours in warning and concern. “don’t take unnecessary risks now, ya hear me? _just_ keep an eye out.”

You meet him with equal fire. “I won’t. Don’t worry.”

So,” a devilish smile twists Papyrus’ features, “I have come up with a trap.”

A vigorous swishing of fabric and clicking of heels interrupts your talk. Mettaton glides up to the table, smile dazzling and smug. “A trap, I hear?” His glittering hand caresses Papyrus’ rapidly blushing skull as he bends over the table. “Darling, are you keeping secrets? I do so _love_ secrets.”

Sans digs the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. “this is why we don’t talk about this shit in public….”

Mettaton chuckles and sits gracefully in Papyrus’ lap, crossing his legs as he wilts. Papyrus’ eyes widen and he sits stock-still, a picture of discomfort and awkwardness and orange blush. The whole situation is hilarious, causing you to laugh quietly behind your hand, eyes dancing in mirth. Mettaton chides, his own eye glinting, “Why Sans, I’m surprised at you. You probably have more secrets than the rest of us combined.” Sans hones in on him, glaring. Mettaton just smirks and examines his nails. “Besides, secrets are meant to be shared.”

You tilt your head, crooked smile crossing your face. “But isn’t that the point of secrets? To not be shared,” you muse. Mettaton just waves his hand, dismissing such an errant thought like a bug in his way.

“Details, details, darling.” He throws his arm around Papyrus’ shoulder, fingers walking up his vest, counting the buttons. “Now what is so juicy that can’t be shared? I’m _dying_ to know.”

Sans drops his hands as he leans back into his chair, strained grin on his face. “you’re a calculator. what’s ‘no’ plus ‘forget about it’?” Mettaton frowns and harrumphs. But he turns to Papyrus to plead instead.

“Why don’t _you_ tell me what it is?” he coos, lips pursed in a delightful pout. Sans sighs heavily and rolls his eyes, glancing at you with an exasperated expression. You scoot over so you can talk to him without Mettaton noticing. You’re not so worried about that. He’s pretty wrapped up in trying to win Papyrus over right now anyway.

“What harm would it cause?” you ask, shrugging.

He leans in as well, saying, “where have ya been these past couple months? m can’t keep his mouth shut about anything.”

You smile, half-chuckling. “Well if the plan has to do with the parlor, you think he should know about it? I’d be kinda surprised if W.D. hasn’t told him.”

“w.d. doesn’t play well with others,” he says under his breath.

“Yeah. Gathered that I guess.” You tilt your head, looking into his bright pupils. “He might be able to help,” you say, but add, “Up to you, Sansy,” with a wink before he can retort. The frustration breaks with the arrival of a wide grin. He laughs, quiet and deep.

“told ya only sway can call me that.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Well, while calling you stud _is_ tempting, I’m pretty fond of Sansy. Sometimes,” you allow him with a dazzling smile.

“sweetheart, ya can call me anything if ya say it like that,” he mutters, eyes burning as he beams.

You throw back your head in laughter now, your own blush coloring your cheeks. Mettaton is brought out of his wheedling by the elated sound. “And what were you two whispering about?” he demands, somewhat haughtily.

Sans exhales and plants his arms on the table. “m, shut your trap so ya can listen to ours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit late, had gigs and such this weekend that took up a good chunk of time. On top of which, I got sick, so I apologize in advance of typos, whatever, etc., so on and so forth (editing while having a fever not advised).
> 
> But I hope you enjoy nevertheless!
> 
> LITBM chapter will mooooost likely be up tomorrow.
> 
> Alcohol kills germs right? ---------> ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	18. A Foggy Day

“Should I carry my gun tonight?” Sans turns about to face you in your room, shoes scraping along the hardwood, jacket stirring the hazy air. The afternoon throws weak shafts of light, but Sans’ suited form blocks them, breaks them apart, casting long, heavy shadows over the sparse interior.

“might be a good idea. keep it to yourself though. and like i said, emergencies only.” His hands stray to his own guns, a movement born from instinct. “ya won’t need to worry about it though. everything should go according to plan.”

You nod, mind focused on tonight. But your body fidgets and you can’t help but feel that nervous pang twist your stomach like so many knives. “I hope so,” you mutter. Sans strolls over to you, taking measured steps as he goes. He moves close, hand raising to rest on your shoulder. The contact is comforting, providing a reassurance you don’t get from many people; Grillby and Sway being the only others you can think of.

“it’ll be alright.” You look at him with wide eyes, almost beseeching a certainty. He smiles faintly. “i’ll be there, on the lookout.” He winks as he drawls, “though you should probably wear somethin’ different, or else you’re gonna distract me.” You follow his pupils as they look you up and down, emphatic and teasing.

You glance down at your dress as well. Black lace etched in gold. It is rather…ostentatious, perhaps. It was entirely at Mettaton’s suggestion. You chuckle and respond cheekily, “Oh, this old thing? I’ve had it for ages.”

He laughs, low in his throat as he circles you, hand trailing around your waist lightly. “oh, i can tell,” he says, nodding sagely. “so drab. ya could do with less, i think. less _is_ more, after all.” You start laughing harder, but now a blush accompanies it and you become distinctly aware of the path his hand is taking. It lifts to stroke your jaw. You shiver. Boy, he’s bold. “lookit that blush. you won’t need make-up at all at this point,” he says, voice taking on a gravelly quality. It’s the coming train, the thunder, and you swear you could hear a pin drop in your silence. Your mouth opens partway in amused shock. A heat is starting to gather and you’re mildly surprised at how little you care that it’s spreading.

You recover and raise your own hand to pat his hard cheekbone. “I’d rather see yours,” you taunt.

“and i’d like to see ya try.”

You take a leap before you even realize you’ve jumped, reaching for that rolling engine. “Maybe you’ll get a taste,” you say, not altogether sure of your own intentions as you say it, but knowing deep down the partial truth. His eyes widen, and the pupils brighten as they burn. He’s speechless. You find it hard to look away, but you do, tucking your gun more comfortably against your thigh. You smooth out your dress, fingers catching along the lace, and exhale, ready to head downstairs.

He’s still quiet, just taking all of you in. “Cat got your tongue?” you ask with a grin, voice louder with resurging confidence.

He shakes his head, chuckling. But he does something surprising next. An honest-to-goodness blue tongue snakes out of his mouth and licks his canine as he responds hungrily, “why don’t ya come over here and tell me?”

You devolve into astounded laughter and give him a playful shove. “Positively incorrigible.” He lets out a hearty chuckle and offers his arm to you, those wonderfully familiar and warm white eye-lights dancing.

“let’s head down sweetheart.”

~~~

Sans walks around the parlor after letting you go, scanning the crowds. His eyes trail over to the bar. He heads over and slips onto a stool, B.P. depositing a drink in front of him with a nod. He picks it up and toasts him with a grin, taking a sip. That familiar and welcome burn spreads. Someone slides onto the stool next to him. His eyes flick over briefly. He feels his pupils dim and his magic rush through his bones. His grin becomes cold. Tony. He can’t help but feel this ire towards him. There is no semblance of trust, but he’s not sure whether if it’s just because he doesn’t trust many with you anyway, or if it’s his own personal feelings, however unfounded they may be. His patience is tested when Tony speaks up.

“Hey, you’re friends with ___, right? The name’s Tony. Thought I’d introduce myself,” he says amiably enough. Sans looks over, mask and game on.

“sans.” Tony doesn’t extend a hand, probably because Sans doesn’t look like he particularly wants or expects it. He’d be right.

“How long ya known ___?” Tony asks, curious.

“couple months.” Sans takes a sip of his drink, training his eyes back forward, tired of looking at Tony’s face already. Tony starts to speak again, but Sans cuts him off, saying, “look, buddy, i’m just gonna say a couple of things. i’m glad you got them back safely when you left the other night, so thanks for that,” he admits begrudgingly. He turns his head, meeting Tony’s surprised, but focused gaze. Blue ghosts across his left eye as his voice drops. “but if that happens again, and you do anything to them, well…you’re gonna have a bad time.” Sans gets some satisfaction from the fraction of alarm he spots in those hazel eyes, but it doesn’t last long as Tony returns the stern look.

“I’d never hurt them,” he responds stiffly.

“there ain’t no bones to pick, pal. i don’t care. just _don’t_ ,” Sans reiterates darkly. He shoots down the last of his drink and hops off the stool. He pats Tony’s shoulder and grins, sticking his hands in his pockets. “good talk,” he says as he walks off, leaving a pensive Tony behind at the bar.

Sans finds himself leaning against one of the columns surrounding the sitting area of the parlor. His arms are crossed, hat tilted to cover his focused gaze from searching eyes. His own are doing that very same task, now that he’s done talking and the show’s on the road. They roam, flitting over the patrons, picking out some, discarding others who aren’t worth his time. But they always stray back to you. You’re singing with Sway and the boys. He sighs. Always fun. Always laughing. Always clever. Always gorgeous. Your dress does nothing to hide you but everything to show you off. Mettaton wanted all eyes on you tonight. Sans isn’t sure how to feel about that. Might be good for distraction, but it makes you a center of attention. It’s not that he’s even jealous. He’s worried about your safety. Because not only are common schmucks looking at you, but also anyone who wants to do you or the Family harm.

Every so often, he catches you glancing over at him. He meets your gaze every time. Though you don’t show it, he knows you’re as nervous as he is. He listens in on the chatter around him. It seems to swell and that draws his focus. It’s coming from the front. He moves his body around the pillar to take a good look. Some drunk asshole making a scene as he walks inside. Not unusual. He’s about to look away, when it gets a bit more violent. He tenses and sees the man start moving in a way no drunk man would ever move. It’s practiced. It’s what he sees every day. It’s what his own bones itch to do right now.

He’s drawing a gun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_No, that doesn’t go there, what are you – Of course, of course, why didn’t I see that before – Thank you for this insight – Insight brings things to light – Not darkness – The darkness – Not yet – Darker – Must get this done, can’t see, GET OUT OF THE WAY – Yet dar–_

**“Oh. This seems interesting.”**

Gaster slides the stack of papers to the side, the shuffling noise accompanying the ticks and clicks – _clicks and ticks, wicks, sticks and stones may break these bones but words will stitch t h e m b a c k t o g e t h e r_ – of the many devices behind his desk. His long hands twitch and shift like so many bleached, long-legged spiders over the material, tracking lines of thought and correlation that only he can see. They halt, coming up short on one pathway.

**“Nothing.”**

_Nothing? There is no nothing – Fool – There’s always something – There – In the spaces between – In the fabric of the world – In the loom of reality–_

The bones that form his mouth curl in a mocking grin, pushing and creaking the cracks running down his face. **“Nothing…yet.”**

_It’s happening–_

He whips his head up, eye-lights glazing over. Not a second later a gunshot fires and he rises from his chair. His eyes glance to the ledger on his desk. They narrow as he strides around his large desk. Not exactly the plan Papyrus suggested, but it is close enough. - _Good enough to catch – Dangle the carrot – Spring the trap – Drop the knife – Down, down, down, down–_  The door swings in hastily, one of the guards puffing. “In the parlor, someone’s shootin’ up the place!”

Gaster strides past him, motioning both guards. **“Both of you, follow me.”** His hand waves as he walks down the hall. The door shuts.

_Only just–_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all my BBs! 
> 
> You're all incredible. 
> 
> Mob Boss Host Variety Drinking Hour: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	19. Mean to Me

Sans whips his head to you, alarm shooting through his bones like the bullet ready in the man’s chamber. You don’t know what’s happening, nor do most people. There’s no time.

The man shoots. But he’s bumped by another patron just as the gun fires, jerking it upwards to bury itself in the ceiling above the stage. Shouts and screams ring out in the echo, plaster dusting the area below like a fine mist. To Sans’ relief he sees Sway react swiftly, sliding over to grab you and drag you backstage. Sans’ eye flares in protective fury. Who the fuck is this guy? Is he part of the New Tartaglias? This was not the way it was supposed to go down. He tries teleporting, but people keep hitting him. There’s no telling what would happen if he did. Nothing good that’s for sure. Instead he wades his way, growling, through the rushing crowds. He spies Tony weaving quickly through the throng, heading towards backstage, concern in his eyes. Sans snatches his arm, snarling.

“go make sure they’re alright.” Tony nods and sprints away. Sans doesn’t know if there are others. The more people to protect you the better.

It does nothing to make him hate this less.

He eventually gets to the front, where Undyne has the man pinned down, face mashed against the carpet. It’s nearly empty now, the scared patrons having run out. Gaster glides in not long after, a shadow trickling in. Sans kneels by the man, tilting his head to get a good look at him. He’s cagey, struggling, lip bleeding, bloodshot and wild eyes avoiding Sans’ rapidly fading pupils.

“what’s the matter bud? lookin’ a little down.” He jerks his head up sharply to Undyne. “maybe ya need a pick me up.” She tugs him up by the collar. He coughs, spitting blood and glaring at Sans now. “wanna tell me why ya came in guns blazin’?” The man says nothing. Sans grins. “who do ya work for?”

The man mutters thickly, “Fuck off.”

Sans chuckles. “i was hopin’ you’d say that.”

**“Take him to my office.”** The man’s eyes go wide as he takes in Gaster’s tall, dark form. He starts to struggle, but Undyne yanks him away, dragging him. Gaster looks down at Sans briefly. **“Come. We may have need of your services.”** And he disappears. Sans grimaces. He wants to see you, see if you’re alright. He’s sorely tempted to tell W.D. what the bastard just told him. But, it won’t do to stir the pot and get you involved more than you already are. He tries to push you out of his thoughts for now. He doesn’t want any semblance of you anywhere near this part of him. So he grits his teeth, and disappears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It all happened so fast. You were singing, scanning the crowds like Sans and Papyrus wanted you to do and then you were on the floor, ears ringing. White dust snowed down on the stage, coating everything in a fine mist. Sway’s ebony baby was no longer black, but mottled, like the color was leached right out of it. You were coughing, only vaguely aware of the wiry, dark arm wrapped tight and strong around your waist. You tried to speak but no air could get in or out. You turned to focus on the face next to yours. Sway. It was such an alien face. The expression almost looking like it didn’t belong on there; a face usually so kind and carefree. But now it’s all hard, focused planes and determined, angry angles. His eyes belie those sharp lines as he looks to you.

They’re worried. 

It takes several reiterations for you to catch what he’s yelling as he drags you backstage into the dark. People are running and ducking, there’s so much yelling and screaming. It does nothing to help your ears, throat, or head.

Sway’s rasping voice finally breaches that dulling wall your senses have erected. “You alright, ___?” He must be scared because he never says your name. You open your mouth to answer but it’s all you can do just to keep clean air in your lungs. You just nod and give him a thumbs up. You stumble, finding it harder to breathe without coughing. Your lips snatch desperate breaths, tugging them in, not quite getting enough. You try to avoid panicking. That would only make things worse. Your limbs start to feel heavy and numb. Clumsy as a drunk. Sway notices you, and he stoops to pick you up with a grunt. He jogs to the dressing room, setting you in a chair. You immediately go for the water on the counter, gulping down a glass. You cough again, resting your forehead on your arm that lays on the counter. The next breath you take comes easy, thankfully, clearing your head. You don’t particularly enjoy the feeling of suffocation. Bad company and they tend to steal shit.

Sway kneels to the side of you, hand brushing the hair out of your face. “Hey, chickadee. Doing better?”

You croak, “Yeah thanks, Sway.” Your trembling hand wipes the sweat and dust from your face as you look to him, keyed up but exhausted at the same time. “What the fuck happened?” This was _not_ the way it was supposed to go down.

“Some asshole decided to pull a gun on the place. Don’t know who it was though.”

“Shit,” you mutter. God, you didn’t even notice. There was barely any time to notice. “Are you ok?”

His hand smoothes your hair before squeezing your shoulder, that smug smile back. It’s honestly great to see. Serious doesn’t suit Sway. “Yeah. Don’t worry ‘bout me none, chickadee.”

Now that you know Sway is ok, there’s someone else your worry spikes for. “Where’s Sans?” Your mind half wonders why he hasn’t shown up.

His brow wrinkles, just as concerned as you. “Dunno. Probably to take care of the problem.” He notices your growing anxiousness. “He can take care of himself. He’s been at it a lot longer than any of us, chickadee.”

You’re about to retaliate and get up to find him, but you hear the rapid pounding of shoes echoing down the hallway. You both whip towards the door, you reaching for your gun and Sway standing, tall form obstructing your view. Your pulse is skyrocketing, with all the speed of a robber on the run.

“___!” You exhale shakily. You know that deep voice. It’s Tony. You peek around Sway’s side and see him skid into view. A relieved smile breaks the harsh ice in his hazel eyes. He moves more cautiously into the room. Sway doesn’t budge. “You both alright?"

Sway asks over you, own voice rough with suspicion, “Yeah. How come you’re here?”

Tony shifts his weight, worry ghosting across his features once again. Though maybe it never really left. “Wanted to make sure they were alright. Sans told me to as well,” he adds, almost ruefully.

You perk up as Sway slouches, the pressure off for now. “You saw Sans? Where is he?”

Tony’s jaw clenches and sets. “Last I saw, he was headin’ for the guy.” You start to stand, set on going back out front to make sure he’s ok, but both Sway and Tony move to keep you sitting. You balk, arms raised in indignation.

“C’mon guys!”

“No,” Tony and Sway say at the same time.

A fire blazes in your eyes and your chest. “Don’t fucking try me you guys. I’ll take you both on, I swear.”

Tony shoves his hands in his pockets, smiling slightly. “Bet you could. But that don’t change the fact you’re not movin’ from here.”

“It’s still dangerous, chickadee. You don’t know what’s goin’ down out there,” Sway adds.

“I can handle myself. I have my gun.” You pat your thigh, beseeching them.

“No,” Tony says, more forcefully. You glare at him, your ire rising. He and Sway stare right back, holding no quarter. You cross your arms and sit back in the chair, gazing at the doorway hard, like you could disappear just by will alone. Sway hops up on the counter next to you, sticking close to your side. Tony takes a post against the wall. Your mind flits about, searching for those possible ways to leave. It sounds quiet out there, most likely everyone has run off. And you don’t doubt the guy has been taken care of. So why won’t they let you leave? Is there something you’re missing? Are they waiting for Sans to come back himself? If they are, fat chance, because as the minutes tick by, so does that possibility. If he wanted to make sure you all were ok first, he would have come. Something must have held him up. You can only imagine what. Apprehension and a weighty sense of dread anchors itself deep within your chest. Did something go wrong? Was he needed elsewhere? You honestly have no idea. Anger joins in the fray. You fucking want to find out. You look at Sway. He’s leaning back on his palms, legs kicking slightly off the floor, the picture of ease.

“Hey Sway.” He tilts his head in your direction, curiosity glittering in his dark eyes. “Why don’t ya let me peek and see what’s going on?”

“Nope.”

“C’mon!” you plead. He shakes his head. You glower, but pause, consideration flashing across your face. “What about you then?” That stops him. He glances over at Tony, who shrugs.

“I’ll take a look. When I come back, ya better be here so help me.” He jumps off the counter, landing on lanky legs. He points at Tony, rasping voice thick with authority. “Make sure they stay put,” he orders as he stalks out the door. You cackle internally.

One down, one to go.

You stand slowly, easing up out of the chair. You walk around the room, distracting yourself and Tony as he follows you with his eyes. You shiver and take a black coat off the racks, tying it around you. “I hope everyone is alright,” you say softly, genuine concern coloring your tone.

“I’m sure they are. They’re used to it, probably.” He grows quieter. “Just glad you’re ok.”

“Ya shouldn’t worry about me,” you say as you turn to look at him. His hazel eyes are downcast, but mollified for now.

“I like to worry about ya,” he teases.

You smile softly and cross the room to him. “Thanks for looking out for me,” you say as you move close and place your hands on his shoulders, standing on your tiptoes. You hear his breath catch, smell that spice and smoke scent heavy around him. You lean in and place a small kiss on his stubbled cheekbone. His eyes close as he sighs.

You don’t linger for long before whispering, “Sorry.”

He grunts in confusion, but lets loose an incensed yell when you tug his hat over his eyes and shove him back hard. He stumbles, losing his footing and himself in the rack of clothes. You book it out of the dressing room, feet flying, adrenaline flying through your veins like fireworks. You make a hard left and hide in a dark, hidden alcove. You slip your shoes off quietly and almost scream when you see Tony’s tall and furious form bolt right past you. Shit, he moves fast! You almost didn’t make it. You move silently to the other side of the backstage, sticking in the shadows. You’re just thankful you grabbed that black coat earlier.

No sign of either of them yet, but you do hear their yells ricocheting in the dark interior. You’ve gotta move fast. As soon as you’re out from backstage, you peek around the heavy velvet curtain to make sure they’re not in the parlor. So far so good. No one but people cleaning up the mess. You make a run for it, yanking the side door open and shutting it behind you as noiselessly as possible. You think they’ll probably try here next, so you put on your shoes and make your way hastily deeper into the building. A tired chuckle slips from your lips. What a rush. Though they are gonna _hate_ you for pulling a fast one on them _. If they weren’t so hard-headed then this wouldn’t have happened_ , you reason to yourself, smirking.

Your triumph is soon overcome by that anxiety again. The clicking of your heels is humongous in your ears, only exacerbated by the blood pounding in them. Your concern for Sans drives you forward. You know he can handle himself, but you want to see him with your own eyes. He’s your goddamn friend. You want to make sure he’s ok. _Even if he didn’t come to make sure you were_ , you think a bit sarcastically, if not bitterly. You make your way quickly down the halls, entering the one housing W.D.’s office. An opening of a door startles you, making you halt. You peer around the corner and see a hunched form exit the office. You know that stocky shape anywhere. You surge forward, calling out, “Sans!”

He whips around partway, sockets empty. He holds out his hand in warning. “ _stop_.” You’re so stunned, you do. You’re only maybe fifteen feet from him, anxious to close the distance. You start forward, ignoring his plea, but he says again, voice low and grating, “ _don’t ___._ don’t…don’t come over here, alright?”

You tilt your head, face twisted in frustration. “Why? What the hell are you talking about?” You step again. You didn’t come all this way for nothing.

But he steps back. “i mean it. don’t.”

“Sans, quit razzing me, I’m not in the fucking mood.”

He raises his voice, equal parts frustrated himself and almost…afraid? “i’m not fuckin’ around, ___.”

Your anger starts to overtake the frustration, mounting with your concern. Why won’t he let you see him? What is going on? “Are you ok? You’re fucking scaring me right now, so stop dammit.” He moves back again, exasperated.

“i just…don’t want ya to see this.”

You throw up your hands, groaning, “See _what?_ Stop being stupid and let me see if you’re ok!” You don’t give him a chance to deny or run away because you close the remaining few feet and grab his shoulders. He growls out a “ _no!_ ” but not before you see.

There’s blood.

_Everywhere_.

Your hands lift partially from his jacket, sticky with dripping crimson. Your eyes widen in barely contained horror and worry. Your breath leaves your lungs, vacating without a second thought, kicked out by force. It…it can’t be his…can it? “Sans…?” you whisper, choked. He closes his sockets, pained expression settling into his face. His hands come up to circle your wrists gently. You don’t move away. How can you? He’s your _friend_. “Is that yours?” you ask, voice stronger. A vague thought wanders aimlessly through your mind. Can he even bleed?

He opens his eyes and glances at you quickly. He shakes his head, pupils back but dim. You look to W.D.’s office. You’re not stupid. Your hands itch to hold his face, but you don’t want the red to cover those white bones. So instead, barely even thinking, you throw your arms around him, hugging him tight. He takes a step back at the force of your embrace, and you hear his breath hitch in your ear. His body is tense, but after a moment, he returns it. Returns it all. His arms fold you up, holding you to him. Neither one caring for the gore that sits heavy in between you. You whisper against his skull, “You don’t have to tell me anything. Just…I’m glad _you’re_ ok.”

His answers roughly, “i meant to find you after. but w.d. wanted me to…,” he doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to. Instead he says, “let’s get cleaned up.” You feel his eye flare and you drop, falling back into an unfamiliar environment. You look around. It looks a bit like Sway’s, but more comfortable and decorated. Large couches and chairs with faded blue velvet covering and elaborate scrollwork dot the room. Oriental rugs cover the hardwood, but it all looks like the furnishings that come with hotels or apartments anyway. It’s spotless, kept clean and tidy, small photos littering the domestic environment. You feel that pang of want again. This is the first time you’ve felt like you’ve been in a real _home_ since you arrived. You want to know this place. This place that already strikes you so deeply.

“Where are we?”

“home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a cliffhanger last chapter! This is longer to make up for it, you crazy kids. I also will get on the stick with quicker updates, sorry about that as well. 
> 
> As always, hope you enjoy! Thank you for all the wonderful comments and support. You truly make this enjoyable as all hell. 
> 
> Mob Boss Host Variety Drinking Hour: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	20. Just You, Just Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! SPECIAL THING HAPPENING! As a thank you to all of you who have read and supported my works, I wanna do something for you. Come on over to my blog and ask me things! You can request drawings, prompts, scenarios and I'll respond accordingly! I've been doing some already, come look and join us!
> 
> Please don't be shy. I don't bite. 
> 
> Much. 
> 
> http://ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com/

“Home,” you say, voice soft and quiet in the silent apartment. Sans’ hand lands on the small of your back, bringing you out of your focus for now.

“i’ll show ya around. but first, we gotta get cleaned up.” He waves his other hand, motioning to your dress and his suit. You never really did look good in red.

Sans leads you through the living room to an adjacent room. Pine. The warm, heady scent immediately sweeps over you, wrapping you up and dropping you into the cool forest beyond the hot, dry skyscrapers. “Your room,” you say matter-of-factly.

“my room,” he repeats, slow smile spreading across his face. He points to another side room. “there’s my bathroom. everything you need should be in there. i’ll make sure ya have clothes too. i’m gonna use pap’s.”

You turn back at him, tearing your eyes away from the cozy atmosphere. “Thanks. I won’t take long.” He shrugs and grins, watching you make your way to the bathroom. You flash him a smile before shutting the door. Your back plants itself against the wooden frame and you exhale, long and low. What a freakin’ night. You push off, heels clicking against the hard tile. The shoes fall and you sigh at the cool ceramic on your feet. You waste no time, the sticky crimson splotches screaming their priority in your mind. You find a towel and begin to undress, making sure no blood touches anything. Your nose wrinkles. It’ll be better off being burnt at this rate. Not to mention, when M gets ahold of this, he’s gonna burn you too. You turn the water to nearly scalding and slip into the shower. It feels wonderful, frankly, but the joy is quickly torn to shreds as you spot tendrils of faded red trickling into the drain. You set your jaw and hastily begin scrubbing your skin and hair. Desperate to get the red off, the smell of iron and salt and death off your body. Despite the heat and steam, a cold shudder chills you to the bone.

When you’re satisfied that you’ve sufficiently cleaned yourself, you step out, securing the plush towel around your body. You open the door and peek inside Sans’ empty room. You spy a pile of clothes folded on top of his bed and you assume they’re for you. You trod over, shifting the fabrics around. Looks like some sleeping pants and undershirt. You tug them on, and though they’re big on you, they’ll get the job done for now. Just until you get back to your place. Your eyes take in the surroundings. It’s not as bare as yours. It’s messy, but…organized. His room at least looks lived in. His desk is an odd assortment of books and gun parts. His bookcase is filled and you’re not sure why you’re surprised, but you’re also not sure why you like it so much. Your fingers busy themselves tying the drawstrings tight while your mind and heart go on a journey. The destination is uncertain but curiosity, excitement, and trepidation are hitchhikers you’re picking up along the way. You don’t know how long they’ll be staying, but you’re sure that as long as you’re in Sans’ place, they’ll tag along for the ride. Though you’re comfortable with Sans, it’s still incredibly strange to be here right now. You see a side of someone for so long, especially someone as secretive as he is, that being in the space he probably considers most vulnerable and closest to his heart is…indescribable. You’re honored by it definitely. It’s intoxicating at the very least. You want to know more, so much so that it’s almost a ravenous need. You shake your head. Patience. All in due time.

You hang up the towel, gather your ruined dress and shoes, and open the door to an equally inviting and silent living room. You do hear the trickling hum of running water in what you guess to be Papyrus’ room. So you move to the couch and wait, scanning the welcoming environment. You hear the water shut off and your pulse picks back up, a hurried patter in your veins. The door creaks open and out walks Sans in much the same attire as you. He pauses in the doorway as he catches sight of you. You both stare at each other, eyes wide, seeing a side of one another rarely witnessed by anyone else. It’s invigorating, freeing, breaching a new level in the relationship you share. Sans is the first to regain composure, but you’re hot on his heels.

“clothes alright?”

You smirk, teasing, “You’re a bit big-boned, but they’ll do.” He barks out a laugh, plodding over to sit heavily next to you. “Feels good to be cleaned up,” you mutter into the casual air, stirring it. Sans nods absently as he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped tight together.

“i’m sorry ya saw that,” he whispers.

You peer at his downturned face, serious gaze trained into the oriental rug. Serious doesn’t suit Sans either. You bump his shoulder with your own. “I know what kinda life I live here. Been living it a long time to be honest.”

He rubs his jaw as he admits, “yeah, but not from me.”

“I was bound to see it as soon as you gave me your card.”

He hangs his head as he chuckles. “guess so.” He waits a moment, unspoken question hanging in the air. Then he breaks it. “do you think less of me?” In spite of the hidden fear behind his words, he speaks directly, not shying away from them. It’s just like him. Invisible until he wants it known. And then it’s no holds barred. Put up your dukes, boys.

You’re surprised, your brows raising along with that feeling. “Since when do you care what other people think?”

He huffs, slightly amused before looking at you out of the corner of his eye. His grin is there, but his tone is low and earnest. “i care what _you_ think.” Your face softens at his sincere admission.  

“I think…you’re the same old bag o’ bones you always were. Funny, clever, though a bit dense at times,” he laughs at that, “but, at the end of the day, someone who really fuckin’ cares about others.” You wouldn’t call yourself the most eloquent person out there, certainly not like your father, but you think you know how to get your point across. Sans seems to have caught it, because relief floods his features, smoothing the bones of his face. He raises his hand to bring it up under your chin, fingers sliding along skin to grip your jaw, firm but tender. His thumb rubs along it and you feel that shiver trail wonderfully down your spine once more, a spear of heat igniting you. You find yourself leaning in, dragged by the depth of those bright white pupils. You also notice that he’s following your movement, too.

And then rapid knocking interrupts everything. You both jump, the tense atmosphere dissolving, though you’re still acutely aware of your bodies. Sans growls audibly, standing and stalking over to the door, fist shoved into his pocket. The knocking is cut short when he throws the door open.

The doorway reveals a shocked Sway, fist poised in midair.

 _Shit_ , you think as you stare guiltily at his increasingly unamused face.

“You…. You…,” he stammers, smacking his fist against his palm, the picture of frustration. “Oooh, boy, you are somethin’ else, chickadee. Nearly givin’ me a heartattack back there! I am _too_ young and _too_ handsome to go through that nonsense.” Sans raises a brow bone and turns to look back at you, confused. You open your mouth to explain but Sway cuts you off again, pointing at you as he says to Sans, “They ran off to find ya after the shooter ya know, _shot_ _up_ the place. I told ‘em to stay put, but they’re like a goddamn fish! Wrigglin’ through mine and Tony’s safekeepin’ and whatnot,” he yells, entirely put out. Sans sighs, flashing you an exasperated, but unsurprised expression.

“___,” he says, not quite accusing.

You defend, “You didn’t come back, so I went to make sure you were alright!” You cross your legs and say, under your breath, “It’s what friends do, stupid.”

“wanna run that by me again, sweetheart?” His smile and flashing pupils undermine his empty threat.

You smirk. “I’ve done my exercise for the day, thanks,” you concede. You get up from the couch and cross the room over to the still-seething Sway. He glares down at you half-heartedly. Your arms circle his tall, wiry body in a tight hug. You’re sincere when you say, “I’m sorry, Sway. I didn’t mean to upset or scare you.”

After a small reluctant moment, he hugs you back, his warm and lanky self returning. “You’re one hell of a musician, chickadee, ‘cause you know how to play me just right,” he says, a rasping chuckle tumbling in his chest. He pulls back and gives you a big noogie that you most definitely deserve. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were me and I was the piano.” You laugh and push him away. He sticks his hands in his pockets and steps back from the doorway. “Well I won’t bother ya, just wanted to find ya and make sure you were ok. Now, uh…go back to suckin’ face,” he teases. You let out a shocked laugh and step towards him to give him the what-for, but he bolts before you can, cackling all the way down the hall.

Sans chuckles beside you and shuts the door. You move back to the couch to pick up your dress and shoes. Sans just watches you curiously. “whatdya think you’re doin’?”

You raise your brows as you turn to him, confused. You push your wet hair behind your ears, still recovering from the blaze and near miss earlier. “Thought you might want for me to get outta your hair now that I’m clean.”

He tilts his head, that small grin stretching his face. “would have to have hair for that.” You laugh, looking away. He steps over, feet shuffling against the rugs. “but,” he turns your head to face him, fingers sliding along your jaw much like before. “i’d feel better if you stayed here tonight.” You meet his eyes. They burn and inflame you all at once. No one’s ever looked at you quite like that. It’s impossible to not return his smile. “you can take my bed and i’ll take the couch. whatdya say?”

You hardly hesitate at all. “Ok.”

He leads the way back into his room and you follow. He takes your things from your arms and sets them aside, getting the rest of his room and bed ready for you. You watch him work, entranced by the way his bones move. You know his hands. They’re rough, but their texture earned by their purpose belies the nimble way they move now. Practiced, almost delicate. Scientific. Deft movements for maximum efficiency. He steps back, assessing, before turning to you with a grin on his face. You throw a grateful smile his way.

“if ya need anythin’, just holler. i’ll be right outside.”

“Thanks, Sans. You sure you’ll be fine on the couch?”

He chuckles as he nods. “slept there plenty of times. no skin off my nose.” You laugh and it’s all he can do to keep from kissing you right then and there. He stiffens somewhat as you step close to him, arms coming up to hug him. Your breath skirts hot across his neck. He squeezes you tightly. He murmurs, “thanks for checkin’ on me.”

“Friends, stupid.”

He laughs, body bouncing against yours. “guess that’s what ya said, huh?”

“Yep,” you say, joining him in laughter. You pull back and place your tingling lips to his cheekbone. You linger for a long moment; despite the tension you feel from him. You step back and he releases you, but not without effort. There he is with that gaze again. You really ought to find a way to handle it, but that can wait for now. “Night, Sans,” you whisper, smoothing the wrinkles from his shirt. Idle hands are the devil’s playthings, after all. You smirk inwardly. You were never really good to begin with you think.

Sans responds, voice rough and gravelly, “night. sleep well, sweetheart.” His hand brushes your cheek once more before stepping out and closing the door behind him. He exhales heavily and rubs his hands over his skull with a dull scrape.

You’re gonna be the death of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *flops* I'm sorry this is so late! GAH, I was traveling home this weekend, I apologize. Olly is a bad house elf.
> 
> To make up, make me write and draw things on my Tumblr! IT'S FOR YOU BECAUSE YOU DON'T MINERAL, YOU ROCK!
> 
> Tumblr: http://ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com/


	21. I Got It Bad (And That Ain't Good)

Sans settles down onto the faded blue couch. One arm rests behind his skull and the pillow while the other comes to lay on his chest. He stares absently at the ceiling as he tries to ignore that you’re sleeping in the next room. His room. In _his_ bed no less.

He wishes he could join you.

He doesn’t know when he’d gone so soft. Was he always? Was he ever really ruthless? Other than Papyrus, maybe he just didn’t have anything else to care about. But now there’s you. He thought he’d missed the train on these kinds of feelings. He was content to stay put in this Nowhere; only ever watching, never departing for a destination. But now…he’s on it, the ticket’s been punched and he’s not sure he could ever go back. Not that he’d want to. You’re too captivating, in every sense of the word. The protectiveness that planted itself as deep as the bullet that saved him has only grown. You’ve lifted him from the gritty underworld, the rust and blood-coated thoughts surrounding his work, up to his soul. He wants to be there for you. Be the one you can trust. He was afraid of you seeing that side of his work. He didn’t want to ruin his chances of you placing that trust in him. He thought it was all over when you did.

But then you surprised him.

You didn’t care. Cared about nothing else except for if _he_ was safe. Maybe you already have placed your trust in him. Enough to ignore the realities of his life, though you acknowledge them. He just hopes you don’t see it in action. He closes his eyes, banishing the thought of your potentially horrified reaction crossing your face like a warped shadow. He just focuses on your calm features, how it would look like asleep. How it would look like if he woke up next to that beautiful, clever face; seeing your bright eyes open, blinking to meet his. It’s not long before he falls asleep to that image.

It’s also not long before Papyrus comes striding through the door like a whirlwind. Sans’ sockets shoot open, sitting up quickly. He groans, hand rubbing his exhausted face.

“Sans? Why are you asleep on the couch?” Papyrus cocks his head, perplexed.

“bed’s taken,” he says, voice deep and gravelly, but a slight smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

“What do you mean taken? You are not making ANY sense, brother!” his brother shouts, completely puzzled now.

Sans lifts a finger to his teeth. “don’t wake ‘em up.”

Papyrus pauses at that. “Who?” His brow creases as he thinks. “___?” Sans nods. Papyrus’ jaw drops and he flails his arms excitedly. “Well why are you not in there?” he whispers.

“not the right time,” he admits, sounding as dejected as his brother looks.

“Well when is the right time?”

Sans doesn’t have an answer for that.

Papyrus begins to loosen his tie as he walks through the room still glancing at the occupied room. “How did they come to be here?”

Sans scratches his skull, frowning. “they…saw me after we took care of the guy.” His brother’s eye-sockets widen in concern. “they saw. but they didn’t care,” he says quietly. He gathers himself and sighs, “we both needed to clean up. feel better knowing they’re safe here. at least for tonight,” he offers.

“That is a good idea. I am sure it will be _just_ for tonight then,” Papyrus teases, winking wickedly.

Sans chuckles and waves his brother off as he goes to bed. “night bro.”

“Good night, Sans.”

Sans slips back down into the cushions, listening to Papyrus’ activity. But he picks up something else. A shuffling and creak from within his own room. He grins, closing his eyes. Guess it’s probably good he keeps his cards close to his chest. He’s not surprised, though. Curiosity did kill the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. You seem like the kind of person who’d ascribe to the second half of that phrase.

He likes to think he does too.

~~~~~

Your eyes open to an unfamiliar environment. The blues, greys, and blacks come into sharp focus as you awaken, coalescing to form a room you’ve only just begun to know. Early morning sunlight threatens to expose it, peeking its weak rays through the drawn, heavy curtains. You rub the sleep from your eyes as you sit up. You’re still tired, but it’s more the fatigue that comes from sleeping so well that you want more of it, like a trembling junkie and their fix. You don’t think you dreamt at all, you slept so soundly. That pine scent you associate with Sans is a hundred times more potent here, casting this wonderful haze over you. You breathe it in once more, finding you almost can’t get enough. You slip off the bed slowly, groaning from your unused muscles. You crack your back and stretch a bit. Feet pad over to the door and an ear presses against the polished wooden surface. You don’t hear anything, except for the sawing snores of Sans on the couch. You smile to yourself and open the door with as little sound as possible. You peek into the dark living room.

Your smile only grows wider.

Sans is sprawled across the couch, arms and legs spilling over. It’s a scene that hits you right in the center of your chest. His carefully cultivated façade is down, a calm and content expression smoothing his features. He looks years younger, no weight of the world or work on his shoulders. You try to memorize the sight, because you know when he wakes up, his guards will rise along with him. Your stomach growls and you wonder if they have coffee. Your eyes search to the left, spotting a kitchen. You’d be surprised if they didn’t have any, Sans practically lives off the stuff. You make your way, passing by the couch.

A bony hand shoots out to grab your wrist.

You let out a scared yelp, clutching your chest over your pounding heart. It feels like it wants to come out, clawing its way up your throat. You take deep, shaky breaths as you look down to find two tired, but no less amused pupils staring up at you.

“You _ass_ ,” you hiss, half-laughing.

His ensuing chuckles are rough, tumbling out of him in gravelly chunks. “mornin’ to you too, sweetheart.”

You huff with a smile, regaining your composure. “Good morning, I guess.”

He lingers for a moment before he lets go of your wrist, fingers gliding over the smooth skin. It tingles in the trails left behind. His hands find their way underneath his skull. You lean on the armrest, bending over him. He stares up at you, sleepy but at ease. “how’d ya sleep?” he asks.

“Really well.” His eyes gleam at that, a pleased smile accompanying it. “How about you? Hope you weren’t too uncomfortable out here.”

“nah, _sofa_ -r, so good.”

You snort, smirking, “Guess I shouldn’t count on ya for jokes this early, huh?” He laughs at that, shrugging.

“no time like the present.”

“Ya got coffee?”

“do one-legged ducks swim in circles?”

You bark out a loud laugh and clap your hands over your mouth. Rolling laughter joins yours as he sits up on the couch. You try your best to stem your laughing, but it’s a hard won battle. Tears prick your eyes and you wipe them away before they gain a chance to fall. Sans walks by you and ruffles your already messy hair. He teases, “see, still got it.” You roll your eyes and catch your breath, following him into the kitchen. He waves a hand towards the small dining table and says, “make yourself at home.” So you do, sliding into one of the upholstered chairs. He goes about making coffee, those measured movements resurfacing. Before you know it, the rich smell of steeping grounds fills the apartment. You inhale deeply, savoring the heavy scent. He places two steaming mugs on the table, as well as depositing cream and sugar for you with a wink. He plops down and takes a long pull, sighing as he goes. You smile, listening and stirring.

 “Thanks.”

“no problem. everyone should have coffee this early in the morning.”

“Yeah, but also for lending me your bed and shower and all. I appreciate it,” you admit, sincere.

He grins at you over the rim of his coffee as he says, “anytime.”

You laugh and frantically tamper the heat in your cheeks before Sans notices. Too late, because he does. He’s about to speak up again, but is interrupted by the opening of Papyrus’ door. The tall, lanky skeleton steps into the kitchen, cheery and already dressed for the day.

“Good morning, Sans! Good morning, friend!” He stoops to give you a bear of a hug. You laugh and squeeze him back.

“Morning, Paps.”

“mornin’, bro.”

“You two are up very early! Even earlier than the Great Papyrus!” He cackles as he fixes his own mug of joe.

“this kid woke me up,” Sans says with a sly wink.

You gasp in mock offense. “Are you a rug? ‘Cause you lie like one.”

Sans spills some of his coffee from the force of his laugh. Papyrus rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but not without a sneaking smile etching his long face.  

You watch, amused, as Sans wipes up the rest of his coffee from the table. He asks his brother, “when does w.d. need us today?”

“He said whenever we are ready.” You look down at the glossy wooden table as you sip from your mug. They must be talking about what happened last night. What did they get out of that man? Was…was Sans the one that got it out of him? That might explain his dogged reluctance and near anger to keep you from seeing him last night. You didn’t really give yourself much time to dwell on it at that moment, more worried for him than for yourself. But as you look at Sans now, his casual and carefree manner stand out to you as more than just devil-may-care attitude. If he was the one, you wonder where he learned it.

And why.

Papyrus stands up from the table. “I will meet you there, brother. Have a great day, friend!” He gives you another warm hug and bounds through the kitchen and out of the front door. Sans chugs the rest of his coffee and looks to you.

“duty calls.”

You nod, your smile bittersweet. You’ve enjoyed this weird, but exciting respite and view into Sans’ personal world. You had asked to see his place before, but you would never have thought it would’ve worked out this way. It’s definitely one way to go about it.

“ _Now_ I’ll get out of your nonexistent hair.”

He laughs and stands, saying, “i’ll be back.” He passes by close, and squeezes your shoulder before he heads to his room. You clean both mugs and settle down on the couch to wait for Sans. He doesn’t make you wait for long, because he steps out several minutes later, knotting his tie loosely. He flashes you a broad grin and adjusts his shoulder holsters over his suspenders. He steps over to you holding out his arms.

“how do i look?”

You stand and hook a finger around his suspenders, snapping it. “Strapping.” A ripple of chuckles spread through you both and he gestures again.

“ready?” Sans says as he waits for you.

You smile crookedly and step up to him. His arms wrap around you, strong and sturdy. You feel his hands splay along your sides and his eye flare to life. You drop and reemerge breathing hard. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to that feeling. That feeling of nothingness wash over you then sweep every part of you away to some unknowable place. You start to pull back, but Sans’ arms don’t move. He waits a long moment and you wonder what’s going through that skull of his. You don’t mind the proximity though. Your questions are answered when one of his hands moves up to cup your cheek. His hand is hard but his touch is tender. So much so that you feel a shiver track down your spine. Your heart is pounding. And then you feel his skull move, his cheekbone dragging across yours until his grinning mouth lands squarely on your cheek. Your breath hitches and you lean into the strange, but exhilarating kiss.

He finally releases you, stepping back with the most pleased and dazed grin on his face. You think you look the same way.

“thought i’d return the favor,” he says, voice low.

You know you can’t hide the furious blush dusting your cheeks now. But you try to make your voice steady as you reply, “Thanks. Not too shabby.” You smile, thrusting away your shyness. He chuckles deeply, the sound growing from his chest.

“i’ll see ya later, sweetheart.”

You wave, smiling. “See ya, Sansy.” He rolls his glowing eye then disappears. You exhale hard and rub your tired face, thinking about tonight now that Sans isn’t occupying your mind. At least   not totally.

Duty calls.

~~~~~

You enter the parlor later that day. The decorated atmosphere is abuzz with activity. At the very center of this hive is Mettaton in all of his metallic glory. He orders cleaning and repairs about with flicks of his hand as sharp as his tongue.

“Like _hell_ I am going to wait a day! And give them what they want? HAH!” he shouts, laughing wildly. “The show must go on and that includes this one, _thank_ you.” He turns and sees you step up to him. “Ah, darling!” His thrumming hands grasp your shoulders fondly. “I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

“Same for you, M.” He gives you a dazzling smile, throwing his arm around your shoulders.

“Such a sweet thing.”

“How’re repairs?”

He huffs, pursing his lips and cocking his hip in disappointment. “Not fast enough for my taste. At this rate, there may be no show tonight.” He looks down to you, a slight smirk on his shiny face. “Which is something you might want to tell your handsome fan over there.” What in the world is he talking about? Your brow furrows in confusion and you search the parlor, looking over Mettaton’s arm. Your confusion shreds apart, drifting away like leaves in a swift breeze. Replacing it is the same feeling you had when confronting Sway. Only maybe a thousand times worse. Because leaning against the wall near the entrance is a glowering Tony, scalding ice and fire in his hazel eyes.

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a longer chapter for you sweet things, to make up for my shoddy updating. I'll try to get on the stick, but the summer semester is wrapping up, so it'll be a little weird. I hope you enjoy though! 
> 
> <3
> 
> Mob Boss Host Variety Drinking Hour: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	22. Mercy, Mercy, Mercy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***WARNING***: Graphic depictions of violence/torture, blood, lots of cursing, etc.
> 
> This is what happened in Gaster's office in Chapter 19, if you were at all interested.
> 
> You don't need to read if you feel uncomfortable. That's totally fine; it has no effect on any chapter before or since. But I don't want to pull any punches with you guys (and neither will Sans). A new chapter, decidedly less violent, will be posted probably later today, to be enjoyed by EVERYBODY.
> 
> That being said, let's-a-go.

Sans drops into Gaster’s office. The groaning man is already on the floor while Undyne stands tall and strong, arms crossed. Gaster watches by his desk, hands clasped behind his back. A tall, dark presence. Papyrus isn’t here. Good.

He hates for Papyrus to see this.

**“Pick him up. Restrain him.”**

Undyne lifts the man by the collar and shoves him into the chair with such force it rocks backward. She ties the ropes tight around his chest, arms, and legs. Sans props himself up against the wall. Watching. Waiting. Waiting until he’s needed. Gaster circles around to place himself in front of the hunched man.

**“Why did you come?”**

A thick, sputtering chuckle tumbles out of the man’s bloody lips. His voice is rough. “Right to the point, huh?”

Gaster doesn’t acknowledge him, asking, **“What is your name, then?”**

“Does it matter?” the man asks him in return, smirking. He huffs when Gaster just stares, expectant. “Leo. But you can be damn sure that’s all I’m gonna give you,” he growls.

Now it’s Gaster’s turn to smirk. **“We’ll see about that.”** His hand waves out, motioning to Sans. _Here we go_ , he sighs internally. He steels himself, pushing away all of his thoughts relating to you, his brother, anything he holds dear. It’s just…business. **“I will ask you again. Why did you come?”**

Silence. Gaster steps back, a silent shadow. Sans pushes off the wall and shrugs off his jacket, magic rushing to fuel his eye. A long, thick, bleached, club-like bone materializes in his hand with a snap. It reflects the harsh lighting dimly. He juggles it end-over-end as he strolls over to the man – Leo.

Sans was never really one who subscribed to that whole “don’t get to know ‘em, it makes it easier” deal. Doesn’t matter if he knows their name or not. They still got a name; he’s still got a job to do. Just because he doesn’t know it doesn’t make the blood on his hands any less red. So why the fuck not? Tell him your name. It’s the least he can do while he breaks your body. He’ll remember it. And promptly forget it at the bottom of a bottle.

_Clack, clack, clack_. Leo’s eyes are glued to it, wide and white with begrudging fear and anticipation.

Sans steps in front of him, one hand in his pocket, the other swinging the bone. “could make this easy, or make it hard, pal.”

“Gonna make you work for it, _friend_ ,” he sneers, spitting blood at Sans’ feet.

He chuckles. Not gonna work for very long. “gotta say, never really was a fan of work.” Before Leo can even blink, Sans swings the bone, whipping it with a crack across his face. Leo’s head jerks to the side. Blood and stray teeth spray, along with a yelping cry. _Definite fracture_. “more a fan of _breaks_ , myself.”

**“Avoid the face. We want him to still be able to speak,”** Gaster reprimands, crinkling rasp annoyed.

A small grin crosses Sans’ otherwise blank visage. He pats Leo’s damaged face, eliciting a pained moan. “sorry pal, couldn’t resist. ya got such a pretty mug.” He taps the bone on Leo’s knee next. “why’d ya come here?” he asks again.

“Fuck…off…,” comes the strangled mutter.

“wrong answer,” says Sans as he shatters Leo’s kneecap. _Splintered beyond repair; ten, maybe more pieces. Walking impossible_. He kicks and screams, trying madly to get out of the chair, but Undyne holds it steady, grimace on her face.

“The sooner you tell us, the sooner we’ll let you go,” she offers. She's a bad liar.

A choked laugh spills out of Leo’s open mouth. His sweaty hair hangs in his face, a greasy curtain. “You’ll let me go? How kind…but I think we both know…’m not gettin’ outta here alive.”

“ya may be right,” Sans muses, shifting his weight as he stands in front of him. “so what’s it matter if ya give up the goods? no one’s gonna come after ya.”

“Thought you would know how loyalty works…but you’re just monsters…animals alLL _AAAGGHH_!” His sentence is cut off in a splintered scream as Sans digs the club into Leo’s ruined kneecap viciously. When he stops, Leo slumps, breathing heavy and shaking like a leaf in a summer storm. The ones that turn even this rusted, concrete jungle upside down. Sans bends toward him, looking him in his now-misshapen, raw face.

“oh yeah? what good-for-nothin’, lowlife asshole ya loyal to? bet he’s nothin’ but a yella-bellied _dog_ ,” Sans goads.

A fire ignites as Leo yells, “Don’t you fuckers _dare_ talk about Jim–” He shuts up quickly. Sans’ grin is wicked. Too late. He’s spilled the beans.

“ooh, do ya mean jimmy? i only know one dog by that name,” Sans sneers.

“Shut…your fuckin’ mouth…,” Leo growls.

Sans laughs and taps his grinning mouth. “way a _head_ of ya, pal.” He taps the other knee. “so ya came in here to do jimmy’s dirty work, huh? got tired of raidin’ our warehouses? good strategy,” Sans acquiesces, nodding. “hit ‘em where it hurts. a philosophy i buy into,” he says, emphasizing his point by bloodying the other knee with a crushing crack. _Recovery unlikely_. His check is repaid in another agonized scream. “’cept jimmy’s too much of a coward to show his face and do it himself.”

Sans doesn’t expect the manic laughter. That’s a first.

“Ya got it all wrong,” Leo chuckles evilly. “Jimmy didn’t send me. Didn’t come here for him….”

“then what?” Sans asks, suspicious, but intrigued.

“For that bitch on your fuckin’ stage…,” he coughs out.

Sans stiffens. The walls he’s erected come crashing down around him and you enter forcefully into his mind. You…he was aiming for you. His concentration is broken and his eye flares bright and white-hot in response. He can’t help the growl that builds in his chest like a freight train. His hand snags the man’s collar like a jagged claw and he pulls him up with a strength fueled by rage. Leo groans against the ropes that dig into his body, red angry streaks littering the skin.

“so you were fuckin’ aimin’ for them. _why?_ ”

Leo smiles; a bloody, pleased grin. “What’s it to you? You fuckin’ ‘em?” Red filters into Sans’ vision. He almost doesn’t realize he’s snapped the man’s wrist until the shrieks stab their way through. “He’s not gonna stop ‘til they’re dead! ‘Til the life leaves their fuckin’ eyes!” he screams in pain, but bolstered by a frenzy only caused by shock and levels of hurt far beyond what any sane person could endure. Sans’ hold slips in disturbed surprise, but then tightens as his fury builds back up. His knuckles creak and whine. He can't get that vision out of his head.

“ _who? jimmy?_ ” he demands, incensed.

**“Sans,”** Gaster warns under his breath. Sans doesn’t listen.

Leo sputters in his hysteria. “Nah…Jimmy wouldn’t bother with a whore like that…B-better say goodbye…they won’t be alive for long….”

His last words, because Sans drops the club, materializes a thick, cruelly sharp sliver of bone, and shoves it deep into the man’s neck. So hard that bone meets bone with a dull, sickening snap. Crimson sprays over Sans’ front as he drops the gurgling man. No more screams. Only garbled chugs of air as he tries desperately to breathe. Then silence. Just as the red trickles out from him, so it does from Sans’ vision.

**“We could have gotten more out of him,”** Gaster says, irked, entirely put out.

“ya got your answer. he came here to kill ___, but not for jimmy,” he growls thunderous and low, donning and straightening his jacket. He stalks across the room without another word, slamming the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there ya have it. Let me know what ya think?
> 
> Mob Boss Host Variety Drinking Hour: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	23. Just Squeeze Me (But Please Don't Tease Me)

Mettaton gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before letting you go. You falter and shove your hands into your pockets, digging your heels in. You flash Mettaton an indignant glare when he gives you a push in the direction of Tony. He doesn’t give you time to even retort, going back to his own business. You heave a sigh and start walking over to Tony. If anyone can pull off rigid and casual at the same time, it’s him. His hard expression doesn’t soften when you finally meet him. You look up into his crystalline eyes, harsh lines cutting dark, angry furrows into his, admittedly, handsome face. He just stares down at you, waiting. As if he could do it all day. As if he actually has before. You fidget under his penetrating gaze.

“So, um…Mettaton thinks you’re handsome.”

No reaction.

You cough into your hand, nerves spiking. “Ok, guess flattery isn’t the way to go,” you mutter to yourself. His broad chest expands and he sighs heavily. Still waiting. He’s a wall that’s quickly surrounding you, allowing no escape. Man of the city, no kiddin'. You know he’s not gonna budge. Geez, his gaze is commanding, rooting you to the spot. It sinks leaden right into your chest. So you suck it up and take the sword. You deserve it after what you did. “I’m sorry, Tony. What I did was unfair, but I had to make sure my friend was safe. You gotta understand that, right? It’s what you were doing for me,” you plead. His jaw clenches as he listens, eyes still frigid and sharp. You continue, dejected, knowing you fucked up, “So yell at me, hate me. I wouldn’t blame you. I deserve it.” He lets out another sigh and it sounds like it comes from the very center of him.

This time he actually speaks.

His deep voice is gruff when he says, “I don’t hate ya.” He throws a sidelong glance your way, almost pouting. “Just don’t tease me. Wasn’t very nice.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, hoping your sincerity is heard and received. “But…you wouldn’t have let me go any other way.”

He folds his arms over his chest, looking away. “Yeah, well, whatever.” His dismissive tone is misleading if his upturned lips are any indication.

You lean against the wall next to him, shoulder to shoulder. You feel him relax a bit. “Gotta say, you’re pretty fast.”

“You sound surprised,” he says, looking down and smirking.

“Well, you do eat a lot of gelato…,” you tease, patting his flat abdomen, teeth flashing in a bright smile.

Now he laughs, a great big bark. He shakes his head, black hair dusting his face. “I’ve been known to have a few tricks up my sleeve.” His head tilts back to rest on the wall. He looks over at you. “Just glad you’re ok after your little stunt.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re ok too. You know you’re my friend too, right?” He turns his head to you fully now, ice thawing, his hazel eyes molten and gleaming just as dazzling as his smile.

“Thanks, ___.”

“Yeah, dummy.” He chuckles at that. “There might not be a show tonight, by the by.”

“Figured,” he says, nodding. “Came by to make sure you were ok and _not_ dead.” His eyes scan the parlor, searching. He asks, "They caught the guy right?"

You nod, folding your arms. "Yeah. Took care of it."

He raises an eyebrow to you as he grunts in acknowledgement. He huffs and a suspicious smirk crosses his face. “Guess I’ll hit the old, dusty trail. But,” he leans close, that smoke and spice scent wafting, “how ‘bout a _real_ one for the road?” He taps a thick finger to his stubbled cheek.

You roll your eyes, but not without a smile on your face. “Guess you deserve it after all the trouble I gave ya.” You stand on your tiptoes and place a small kiss on his cheekbone. His beard tickles your lips. It’s not unpleasant feeling. You feel him smile wider before you pull back.

“ _Hai rotto il fiato_ ,” he says, voice taking on this faraway quality. Such a simple thing, kisses. Always seem to do the trick.

“Don’t know what that means, but there ya go,” you say, winking.

“Means it was great. Thanks,” he responds, pushing off the wall. He waves and says, “Well, I’ll see ya ‘round, _cara_.” You wave back and watch him leave. You turn and scan the parlor, noticing Sway’s walked in, heading over to Mettaton in the middle of the room. You follow, coming up beside them.

“How’s it lookin’, M?” Sway asks.

“Dreadful,” Mettaton pouts. “It’s beginning to look like you all have the night off.”

“Aww, what a bummer,” Sway says with false remorse. He glances at you, smiling and winking. He throws a lanky arm around your neck and squeezes you close. “Well, lookee who it is. Got your fill o’ bones already?” he teases. You poke him hard in the side, blushing the tiniest bit.

Mettaton’s head whips to you both, intrigue and surprise sparking in his glittering eye. “You did _not_!”

Mortified now, you say quickly, “You’re right, I didn’t.” You shoot a weak glare up at Sway’s amused face.

“Can’t deny it, chickadee. I saw ya. All up on his couch ‘n such. In his _clothes._ ” Mettaton’s jaw drops.

Sway continues, absolutely loving teasing you. “You gotta tell me, how was it kissin’ them bones? Was it all smooth?” He rubs a hand sassily down his vest. “Or was it rough?” he growls, face beaming.

“OH MY GOD!” you yell, trying to step away. But it’s to no avail, you’re pinned to Sway’s chuckling side.

“As much as I love juicy gossip, and believe you me, this is it, but please, Sway…don’t,” Mettaton’s lip curls, grimacing and shuddering. He pats your shoulder. “You’re very sexy, darling, and I’m sure you’re wonderful in bed, but I’d rather not have Sans in my mind, _thank_ you.”

Is this happening right now? You envy Napstablook’s ability to disappear.

“Though,” Mettaton muses, long finger tapping his pursed lips, “darling, are you into domination? Because I wouldn’t mind seeing Sans stepped on.”

You throw up your hands, utterly done. “If you need me, sorry, I’m gonna go die now. Been a pleasure.” You shake Mettaton’s hand as he laughs gaily and pat Sway’s cheek hard before you shimmy out of his grip. He’s busting a gut, wiping tears from his dark eyes.

“Get on back over here, chickadee, we’re just yankin’ your sweet ole chain!” He grabs your arm and tugs you back. You allow him, listless. But you can’t help the smile that lifts your lips. “I’ll take your word that nothin’ happened. Just a sleepover…so far,” he says, a promise to razz you later in his eyes. He shoves his hand in his pocket, looking down at you. “Well if we got the night off, wanna just jam? Gotta clean up my baby.” He jerks his thumb to the stage where his dust covered piano lays forlorn.

A genuine smile perks you up as you nod. “Yeah, sounds great to me.”

You and he walk off and wave to Mettaton. He blows a kiss, yelling, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, darlings!” He pauses, considering. “Well, just use your best judgement!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're on our way.
> 
> <3
> 
> Mob Boss Host Variety Drinking Hour: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	24. Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

You walk with Sway over to his baby grand. Your fingers trail over the surface, painting black tracks in a sea of dusty white. “You ever name her?

Sway pulls out a rag from his trousers, gently wiping the surface with a tenderness you hardly ever see anymore in this rough town. “Charlene. She’s been my baby for, hoo boy, god knows how many years now. At least fifteen.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “You’ve been here that long?”

He nods, ivory and ebony keys tinkling their love. “Grew up on the streets. M and the Fam took me in after I tried stealing some hooch. Saw I could play and, well…the rest is history.” He beams at you.

“Sounds pretty familiar,” you say, taking one of the other rags and following Sway’s example.

“Yeah? Hard knock life too?” He turns to you and leans an elbow on the piano, listening intently.

“Yep. After my parents…died… I was on my own. Did whatever I could to survive.” A small smile makes an unexpected appearance. “You know how it is. The rest is similar to yours. Caught stealin’, taken in by G.”

“G?” he asks.

“Grillby. Owns a bar by the same name.”

He snaps his fingers, face lighting up. “I know that ole candle! Hot as hell, right?”

You laugh, fondness and delight igniting you from the inside. Doesn’t matter if you’re fire or not, G always manages to light you up one way or another. “Don’t let him catch ya sayin’ that. It’ll go to his head.” Sway laughs with you.

“How long ago was that?”

You absently stroke the keyboard as you think. “Probably…about 8 years ago. He’s been there for me a long time,” you say, trailing off, thoughts following you like stray dogs desperate for any scraps.

His kind, raspy voice rouses you. “How’d your folks pass?”

You stare at the piano for a minute, contemplating. You finally look up and meet his equally gentle eyes. What could it hurt? You trust Sway. “They were killed.” His brow furrows.

“How?”

“In the Ebott Raids. Police…,” you pause, gathering your strength and going back to your work, “They said it was the Barber.”

“Oh, shit,” he exhales. “Chickadee…c’mere.” He moves close to you and wraps you in a large, lanky hug. It’s no less warm though. In fact, it thaws you. You return it, clinging tightly to him. “How old were ya?” he asks, voice soft.

“Eleven.”

He just hugs you harder. You chuckle and blink back the tears that are threatening to form and blow your cover. He says, “Never had the pleasure of knowing my folks.” Your arms squeeze him, pressing your face into his shirt. “The Fam and the boys are all the family I got. They’re all I need. And that includes you too, now, chickadee.”

Now the tears do come. “Sway,” you choke out. “You’re like the brother I never had.”

He chuckles, holding you tight. “Ya gettin’ all sappy on me now? S’alright. M’glad you’re here, despite everythin’.”

He’s right. It could have been worse. You could be dead right now. But instead, your small, strange family has only grown.

“Me too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The blood is gone. Figures. Gaster can’t stand a wrinkle existing on his pristine suit in either reality or the void, so there’s no way a stain would see a long life in his office. If Sans is honest with himself, he’s glad he got the blood off himself too. And you.

Papyrus and Undyne are already in there looking at plans on Gaster’s desk. They look up as he ambles in, Gaster’s brow raising as he says, nonplussed, **“Thank you for gracing us with your presence.”**

“aw, ya missed me,” Sans replies cheekily as he saunters up to the imposing desk, all smiles and charm.

Gaster just rolls his eyes before drawing a line to a map. Sans’ attention follows this train, hardening the atmosphere. **“Tonight, we are going to ambush them.”**

“Do we know if they’ll show?” Undyne asks.

**“The ledger was moved. I can only imagine they’ve taken the bait,”** Gaster hums. **“In any case, we will meet them head on.”** His lip curls in frustration and a kind of sick glee. It’s an expression drawing its darkness from the depthless cracks in his face. **“And that’s where you three come in.”** Sans, Papyrus, and Undyne share a glance. **“You will lead the charge, as it were.”**

“What about here? Things went down just last night after all,” Papyrus asks, nerves pitching his voice a bit higher than normal.

**“I will keep an eye on things.”**

“what if he wasn’t working alone though?” Sans asks. The grin is still plastered on his face, but his body is rigid. What’s come over him? Why does he feel so nervous? He would never have been so hesitant before. Shit, he’d have welcomed this chance. Opened the door to Hell himself – welcome, let me take your coat, much too hot. How about your hat? Such a nice hat, don’t want to get blood on it when I introduce a bullet to your head – for an opportunity to pay back these assholes the hefty tab they’ve been racking up. But now. Now it seems the foundation he’s structured his life around has begun to include you. The mortar to his bricks. The hot, but refreshing breeze blowing through the hard, concrete planes of his city. Since knowing that gangster – Leo – had set his deadly sights on you, he hasn’t really wanted to let you out of his own.

Gaster fixes his penetrating gaze on the shorter skeleton. **“And?”**

Sans meets him, hands exploding from his pockets to gesture around. “ya got a lotta eyes, w.d., maybe use ‘em to see my point.”

**“I _see_ it. I choose to ignore it. They will not come back,”** Gaster says coldly. The air seems to drop with his voice.

“how do ya know, then?” Sans demands.

Gaster walks around the desk, folding his hands behind his back with a sharp shift of his long arms. **“So concerned, Sans, I’m surprised. Could it be that you’re worried for your _friend_?” ** Sans stiffens as he glares at Gaster’s tall form. Gaster smiles, but it’s still devoid of any warmth or true concern. He throws up a hand in a nonchalant wave. **“Your worry is unfounded. I will keep a sharp eye on them. Just do your job.”**

That’s the exact opposite of what Sans wanted. He says nothing, mask back on. He feels Papyrus’ eyes on him, but he ignores it for now. They have a lot of work to do. Gaster dismisses them and he immediately heads to the parlor. He hears the pounding of Papyrus’ shoes as he catches up to Sans.

“Everything will be alright, brother,” Papyrus assures. Sans just grunts, not convinced. “I think that man was alone.”

“not sure. the bastard ___ shot is still out there. likely got others to back him up. my question is how’d they know ___ was here?”

Papyrus’ brows shoot up his forehead. “Could it have been coincidence?”

A sharp scrape ricochets around the quiet hall as Sans drags his hand over his skull. “dunno. it doesn’t feel like it.” They open the door to the parlor and are greeted by the bustling noise of repairs, but accompanied by the tinkling of the piano along with your sweet, smoky voice. Sans’ mood brightens considerably as he listens. You’re laughing as you sing and giving pointers and encouragement to Sway. It doesn’t sound like jazz, whatever it is you’re both figuring out. He’ll have to ask you about it later he thinks as he and Papyrus walk up to the stage. Papyrus leaps up while Sans takes the stairs. You flash him a warm smile before Papyrus hugs you and steals your attention. While his brother is distracting you, he waves for Sway to come over.

The tall, dark man straightens and teases, “Well there he is, the bone-man himself. How was your _night_?” His brows waggle uncontrollably.

Sans huffs out a laugh. “fine. and that’s _all_ ya need to know,” he says, pointing. Sway holds up his hands and laughs all the way from his belly.

“I getchu, Sansy. No worries.” He shifts and sticks his hands in his pockets. “So what’s up bone-daddy? Lookin’ a little doom ‘n gloom, if I do say so myself. Looks good on ya though, brings out your skeletal complexion.” Sans rolls his eyes, grinning before becoming more serious.

His voice is pitched low as he says, “we’re gonna be carryin’ out a job. _all_ of us.” He waits as the shadow of comprehension crosses Sway’s face.

“So no one’s gonna be around?” Sans shakes his head.

“turns out, the guy from last night was after ‘em,” he murmurs, tilting his skull in your direction. Sway’s eyes widen but he recovers, turning his back to you.

“Workin’ alone?” he asks.

“dunno. my instinct says no.” He pokes Sway’s chest. “but that’s where i’d like ya to help me. not gonna be here to keep an eye on ‘em. could you be my eyes?”

“Yes,” he agrees, immediately. Sans is surprised to see the fierce heat behind his words. Sway’s not one to get riled up or serious much about anything. It’s relieving to Sans though. It means he’s been right to put his trust in him. He knows Sway will take care of you. He claps a long hand on Sans’ shoulder. “Just make sure I don’t need to be your eyes forever, ya hear?”

Sans nods, appreciative of the concern. “thanks, sway.” They both walk to rejoin the conversation you and Papyrus are having.

“Sans, they said they would like to try my spaghetti!”

You laugh, nodding, and Sans joins you. “it’s pretty good.” He comes up beside you and taps your shoulder. You look up at his face. The seriousness you detect is growing and it only serves to put you on edge as well. “need to talk to ya, sweetheart.”

Your brow stitches together as you stand. “Ok.” His hand rests on the small of your back as he leads you backstage. It’s incredibly comforting considering how uneasy you feel. “What’s goin’ on?” you ask.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at you for a minute. His gaze is intense, drinking you in. “not gonna keep ya in the dark.”

You look around at the dim backstage, crooked smile lifting your face and fears, saying, “Probably bad place to talk then.” He laughs and steps closer to you. Pine. Crisp and minty.

“heh, ‘m kind of a numbskull like that. but, listen,” he says, grin falling. “we’re goin’ on a job.”

Your hand raises to latch onto his arm, concern sweeping you away. “Is it stupid to ask if it’s gonna be dangerous?”

His mouth lifts, leaning into your touch. “no. but it’s not gonna be a walk in the park. just…take care of yourself while i’m gone. don’t do anything stupid,” he half-razzes. He’s about to say something else, but you cut him off as you throw your arms around his broad shoulders. His own come up fast to hug you to him.

“Be careful,” you whisper against his skull. “And show those assholes who’s boss.”

He chuckles, body shaking against you. “will do, sweetheart.” He pulls back and you can’t stop thinking about his hands weighing on your waist just as heavy as on your mind, his hot respirations weaving through your hair, his skull tugging at your own cheek. Before he can separate all the way, you place a fat and swift kiss on his tough cheekbone. And just like that, you stand back, grinning to hide your concern and racing heartbeat, giving yourself this time to enjoy the faint blue blush making its way across his face.

“Told ya I’d give ya a taste,” you say, brazen and emboldened.

“ya sure did…,” he responds, a bit far away from here. He recovers and beams. “i’ll have to make sure to come back for more.”

“You better.” Why was that so hard to say?

He passes by, but not before laying a hand on your jaw. His thumb slowly and purposefully skirts your lips and it feels like his eyes are burning you inside-out, a white-hot flash of lightning zigzagging its way down your spine. “remember what i said,” he mutters. All you can manage is a nod as his hand drops reluctantly. Your shoulders brush as you go back out front. You make your home next to Sway and watch the skeleton brothers walk off, waving their goodbye. You lock eyes once more, and then they’re gone.

“They’ll be golden,” Sway rasps, reassuring you.

“Hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm BAAAAAACK!
> 
> PEW PEW PEWPEWPEW
> 
> Thanks for your patience while I wrapped up summer classes. Updates will resume as normal! You're all wonderful and great and did I say you look splendid today, really great like A+++ to the millionth power (I know math)
> 
> Mob Boss Hoss Variety Drinking Hour: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	25. It's Only A Paper Moon

“Gah, when are they gettin’ here?” Undyne growls under her breath.

“W.D. did not give us a set time. Just a window,” Papyrus whispers as he watches Undyne pace back and forth in the small, dark alcove.

Sans opens his sockets, dispelling thoughts of you to peek around the corner. Their men mill about. He can tell from their stiff movements that they’re on edge. Undyne warned them of the plan and the Family’s intentions for ambush tonight. They don’t need to be convincing as they go about their duties though. All they need is noise for the semblance of a ruse. They have orders to either split or stay and fight when the New Tartaglias show up. The choice is theirs, no harm, no foul. But when that is, is up in this dark and hazy air however.

Turns out they don’t have to wait long.

The lights overhead burst into sparking shards of glass and wild, escaping electricity. Their men bolt, crying out warnings, and Undyne says, “Finally,” as she sneaks around and out into the warehouse proper. Sans and Papyrus follow her. Masked men filter in with choppers and all manner of street weapons; bats, crowbars, knives of all shapes and sizes. They get busy taking hold of the crates, shouting orders to each other.

“Get these outta here! Jimmy wants this done quick!”

Sans perks up at the name. His hands reach for his guns, bone sliding comfortably against cold steel. Is he here? He fucking hopes he is so Sans can introduce him to Hell, personally. His suspicions are confirmed when another gruff voice yells out, “Hey, Jimmy, where ya want these?”

Sans’ skull whips around from behind the crate, desperate for any glimpse, any sound of the bastard Barber. A clamor of voices raise amid a dark group of men. Sans curses. He can’t make out any one particular individual. He turns back to Papyrus and Undyne. They nod at him.

“ya know what to do, paps.”

Papyrus nods and his right eye flares to orange, dazzling life. He stands out from behind the crate and whirls his arms upward to the ceiling. A massive rending of the earth echoes from across the warehouse. Undyne and Sans step out into view and see the tall, white wall of bone effectively seal off the main exit.

Undyne orders loud and clear, “Catch a few, kill the rest!” Their men spill out from their places and spears and bones join the metallic fray.

“Get Jimmy outta here!” one man shouts as the New Tartaglias scatter.

“oh no ya don’t, you’re _m i n e!_ ” Sans thunders, his own eye blazing. The plan has been placed on the backburner. All he wants is the Barber and all he sees is red. He bolts after the scrambling men, shoes pounding along the concrete.

“Sans!” Papyrus yells, trying to follow, but Undyne stops him.

“I’ll get him, stay here!” she says as she rushes after Sans.

Sans dodges back and forth, teleporting from one side of the warehouse to the other. He has to be careful though, there’s no telling what will be in the space he occupies next – a bullet, bat, anything. He has to be careful for you. But that thought only makes him want to catch them more. They’re getting farther away from the main fight and into the dark depths of the warehouse. Shelves upon shelves of corrugated steel and crates tower in a looming maze over Sans and his quarry. The reverberating pings and pops of ricocheting bullets make it almost impossible to place where the group of men are running. But Sans follows regardless, a hound with the scent of blood hot and stinging in his nose, pushing him forward with almost blind purpose. He starts to round a corner, but pauses when he hears Undyne bellow his name behind him.

“SANS!” she roars as she slide-tackles his ankles.

“fuck!” he curses, dropping to the ground with a groan. “what the _fuck_ undyne?!” he hisses, but his rage is cut off when not a second later a loud, whistling metallic thud splinters above him. His sockets widen in shock.

In the crate, right where his head would be, sits gleaming the most wicked knife he’s ever seen. It’s nearly the length of his forearm, even though a good chunk of it is sunk deep into the crate. He looks back at Undyne as they both scramble to their feet, boots scuffing the dirty floor. He takes her proffered hand.

“thanks,” he says gratefully.

“No problem, but don’t be a fuckin’ bonehead, alright? Ya gotta get back in one piece preferably,” she says, teeth glinting in a wide grin. They both tear off after the retreating footfalls, but more cautiously this time, peering around corners and guns poised at the ready. Sans steps out from behind a tall shelf, but is blindsided by a huge mass. Large hands take his shoulders in an iron grip as they ram him into a tower.

“ _c’mon_!” he shouts in frustration, letting out a grating cry.

“Sans!” he hears Undyne shout before it’s stopped short with a grunt.

Sans’ sockets close in anger and pain. He tries to ignore the throbbing in his back. Tonight is not his night. Wooden boxes spill and shatter with cracks onto the concrete floor. He catches Undyne fighting off another man. No help forthcoming. Guess he’s gotta do this the hard way. Good, because he has a lot of fury to vent right now. He reels back and slams his fist into the man’s masked face with a loud snap. He grabs the dazed man’s shoulders, turning and pinning him with a jagged thud against the metal shelves. Sans lands another blow to his face for good measure before slamming the man’s head into the metal with a resounding growl. The man crumples to the ground. Sans is panting, wiping the sweat from his brow as he turns to Undyne. She’s finished off the guy attacking her and catching her own breath.

“ya good?” he asks breathlessly. She gives him a thumbs up and waves to him to keep going. They pick up their guns and run ahead, but come to an open door. Sans bursts through into the hot, buzzing night. “no no no.” He teleports to the road. Nothing. “ _fuck_! not again!” He runs a furious circle as Undyne catches up.

“At least we caught some of them,” she offers.

“i fucking want the barber, _dammit_!”

Undyne grabs Sans by the collar now, shaking him slightly. He glares up at her, clawed hand hooking around her wrist. “Keep your cool, Sans! Especially in front of W.D. We’ll get him. It’s only a matter of time. I know you’re worried about ___, I am too, but being rash ain’t gonna help you or them. You were almost a stuck pig back there. So get your shit together.”

He looks away, pupils dim and conflicted. _Fuck_. He sighs, deflating. “you’re right.”

“Duh,” she says, smiling in victory.

He coughs. “can you, uh, put me down now?” She laughs and drops him to his feet. They holster their weapons and walk back inside. Undyne orders the men that attacked them be taken back to M’s. Sans follows the winding path through the warehouse until the long bowie knife snaps into view. He comes up to it, a hand wrapping around the polished wooden handle. He yanks it out of the wood with a grunt and holds it up to the light, inspecting it. He wasn’t wrong about the length. Simple looking design, more for purpose and efficiency than for showing off. The size is enough to dazzle anyway. It’s fat, the thick spine tapering to a sharp, honed edge, ending in a vicious curved tip. His eyes scan the handle. Dark marbled wood. Once polished, but worn now from use. Burned into one side are the initials: **JAT**. On the other reads: **Cui cerca, trova. Cui sècuta, vinci**.

He mutters, “what in the….” But he’s roused from his thoughts by a shout from Undyne. He trails after her. There’s no mistake though.

It’s the Barber’s knife.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s kinda nice to have a night off, ain’t it, chickadee?” Sway asks with a relaxed smile as he plunks away at the ivory and ebony keys, testing out the chords you showed him.

You butt his shoulder with yours, laughter mingling with the sweet tones. “Kinda seems like we’re doin’ the same thing, just without an audience.”

He rasps out a laugh, shrugging in acknowledgement. “I guess you’re right. Though this ain’t quite that good ole jazz.” His fingers dance through the chords as you pluck out a little tune to it. “Still got somethin’ though. Can’t exactly put my finger on it,” he teases, tipping a finger under your chin before settling back into a rambling, almost drunken progression that sings of tripping ease. You chuckle as you watch, amazed. You’re sitting still, but boy are you moved.

“I would say you’re amazing, but I think it’d all go to your head,” you say, eyes and smile bright.

He chuckles, winking. “That just makes me wanna hear it more, chickadee.” His dark eyes flit up and widen as he curses under his breath. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.”

Your brow furrows and you look up. Shit. The tall, looming, and shadowy form of Gaster enters the parlor, scanning the room with his depthless and cold eyes. He seems to float over to M, probably asking how the renovations are going. God forbid anything goes wrong. You lean close to Sway. “But we didn’t speak of him.”

Sway cocks an eyebrow, training a wary and sidelong glance to your eyes. “That don’t stop the devil.”

You then feel a trickling chill creep down your spine as Gaster turns his attention to you and Sway on the stage. You scoot even closer to Sway, focusing on his long hands.

“Don’t worry, chickadee,” he mutters under his breath.

You nod, but an idea starts forming in your mind. A slightly naughty - maybe even stupid - one. A sly grin lifts your lips. “Follow my lead,” you whisper. He echoes your look. You suck in a large breath, and boldly belt, “Aaaaaaaas!”

“I was a goin’ over the far famed Kerry mountains

I met with Captain Farrell and his money he was countin’.

I first produced me pistol and I then produced me rapier

Saying, “Stand and deliver” for you were a bold deceiver.

Mush-a ring dum-a do dum-a da

Whack for the daddy-o

Whack for the daddy-o

There’s whiskey in the jar.”

Your voice is strong, emphatic and Sway’s hands match it with daring aplomb, joining with his scratching voice on the chorus. You catch Gaster striding over, purpose in every smooth step. You can’t see his expression well, but you hope he’s _loving_ it. After all, it’s for him.

“I counted out his money and it made a pretty penny.

I put it in me pocket and I took it home to Danny.

He sighed and he swore that he never would deceive me,

But the devil take the men for they never can be easy

Mush-a ring dum-a do dum-a da

Whack for the daddy-o

Whack for the daddy-o

There’s whiskey in the jar.”

You and Sway finish out the song raucously just as Gaster approaches the piano. Might be a good thing, because he looks a sight less than amused. Sway lays a wiry arm around your shoulders and flashes a broad smile at Gaster. If you didn’t know Sway better, you’d even go so far as to say it was genuine. “Why good day, Mr. W.D. Don’t they got the warmest voice you ever heard? You could toast a marshmallow off it, it’s so sweet,” he coos, ruffling your hair.

**“Indeed. A voice that could break hearts I imagine,”** his voice rakes out. It drips of power and apathy.

Sway soldiers on. “Oh, they’ve broken mine for sure,” he says, grasping his chest in mock drama.

**“And I imagine they have many more talents besides. Sans might do well to watch his back,”** Gaster says dryly. You bristle, tensing against Sway’s side. His long fingers squeeze your shoulder, but his face doesn’t fall.

“So what can we do ya for? Surely you didn’t come all the way out here to listen to our sweet music. Though, I could understand if ya did,” Sway chatters smoothly.

**“Might I steal the lovely songbird by your side for a moment?”** Gaster asks with cloying, fake sweetness as he extends a lengthy, white hand to you. His aged pupils gaze at you. It’s so much like an appraisal that it makes you shudder.

Sway looks to you. You can see the hesitation in his chocolate brown eyes. “Whatdya say?” he asks, bravado finally faltering.

As much as you want the opposite, you say, “Alright.” It’s not like you have much of a choice anyway. You stand and step around the bench where Sway is rooted to the spot. Your hand brushes his shoulder briefly before grasping Gaster’s cold one. He loops your arm around his before leading you away. He smells of dust, old books, and a strange third thing. Like rust, a corrosion that prays to the vast expanse of time that claims it.

**“Let’s go on a walk, shall we.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait! I've been trying to catch up on LITBM, and it's hard to bounce back and forth so quickly. And, as with most things in my life, whenever I have free time enough to write, it never happens. I've gotten /slightly/ caught up, but like Sans, I don't like making promises. I'll try and get back on schedule.
> 
> You all are awesome <3
> 
> Mob Boss Hoss Variety Drinking Hour: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	26. When Your Lover Has Gone

Gaster leads you through the parlor and to the outside with a broad, gentlemanly sweep of his dark arm. The nighttime is rowdy, relentless, like the city always is. The wayward wind blows by, dragging in its wake dirt, leaves, and a sweet chill. It’s getting cooler out and you don’t know if the goose-flesh on your arms is from the drop in temperature or the mysterious, shadowy monster at your side.

**“How are your accommodations?”** Gaster asks, metallic voice at once at home and at striking odds with the sounds of the bustling metropolis. Your brows raise in surprise. Not because of the question, but because of the lack of indifference behind it. You wouldn’t dare go so far as to say he cares. But he has interest and that’s intriguing, considering how apathetic he usually is. His white skull turns to look at you when you pause longer than necessary. **“Oh, please, don’t look so surprised. Contrary to what you may think, I actually do care about the well-being of those who live here.”**

It’s out before you can even help it. “For them? Or for the privilege of saying you run a spotless resort?” you say with a disbelieving huff.

His eyes lose their dim tint for a moment as they glint sharply in the neon light. But out spills a thin laugh and he pats your hand. **“Believe what you will. You want me on your side though.”**

Your lip curls as you gaze up at him. “Do I? You seem to have already made up your mind about me.”

A more genuine laugh teeters on the brink now, a leaden sloughing. **“Do not presume to know my mind. There is very little in this world that I have made up my mind about. And if I have, count your lucky stars it is not you.”** You’re silent, cowed and listening. You want to be anywhere but here, but…you also want to stick it out and hear what he has to say. He affects your future here. **“As I said previously, I believe you have many talents. I am aware of some of them. Your time before here. What you had to do to _survive_ ,”** he hints as he looks ahead and up at the looming, eavesdropping skyscrapers. You tense, spine rigid. Your fingers clench the smooth sleeve of his dark jacket. **“I also know what happened to your parents.”** You try to jerk away but he holds you tighter. His long, cold hand clamps over your own, pinning you to his arm. You glare up at him, anger welling up inside you.

“How do you know that?” you demand.

**“I warned you. I know many things.”** His eyes lock you into place and your struggling diminishes. **“Have you told Sans?”** he asks conversationally. You would almost say disinterested, as if he was asking about the weather in passing. You’re familiar with that sneaking undercurrent of intent though, ready to ambush when the time is _just right_.

“What’s it to you?” you ask. He doesn’t answer, just waits. “Yes,” you finally relent, not able to see ahead any traps. You’re, admittedly, pretty shit when it comes to foresight sometimes.

**“No wonder he is so hell-bent on finding the Barber,”** he muses aloud, forgetting you for a moment. **“The Barber is only one piece of this puzzle. He would not be a problem if it were not for his informant.”** He draws you close and that rusting, dusty smell is overwhelming. **“And that is where your talents come in.”**

You don’t like this. Your eyes break from his and you look around for an out. Gaster’s spider-like fingers grasp your chin to force you to look back at him. His touch hums with influence and warning. The bones buzz with a semblance of life, but it’s slogging, an entity that’s thought of age and power and death so often that it’s an active memory. It doesn’t hurt, but he sure as hell gives you no room for argument. You hedge, “And what if I don’t want to do whatever it is you want me to do?”

**“Consider it a stipulation of your living here.”** You frown against his fingers. They slide along your jaw, tugging the skin gently. **“Don’t look so put out. I will not tell you _how_ to do it. Just that you _must_ do it. Do what is necessary to help me, help _us_ catch this intruder. Let me remind you that your safety is at risk as well as long as they are out there.”**

“I think that’s the difference between you and me. I don’t care much for my _own_ safety,” you say.

He smirks, his abyssal cracks creaking. His thumb drifts and a shiver barrels down your spine. His voice is softer, a smoke that flows, prods, and promises, searching for any crack in the wall to infect. **“Do I really have to mention Sans’ safety? Sway’s? What if something happened to them because of your unwillingness**?”

You pale in outrage and apprehension. “Don’t put that shit on me,” you hiss.

**“It is a reality nonetheless. We are all doing our part. Now do yours,”** he says, hardening, all business now as he lets go of your jaw. **“Report to me should you hear or see anything of note.”** You flash him one more baleful glare before nodding. What else can you do? And as much as you hate it, you know in your heart he’s right. You’d sooner sacrifice yourself than let anyone you love get hurt. If there’s something you can do about it, you will. You and Gaster walk back inside and he finally lets you go. He folds his arms behind his back, saying, **“Thank you for the company and your acquiescence. Have a pleasant night.”**

You nod sharply and beat a hasty retreat back to Sway. He’s waiting for you anxiously at the piano. You sit with a heavy sigh next to him, leaning against his shoulder.

“Y’alright, chickadee?” he asks, tone soft.

You shrug, muttering, “Guess so.”

He chuckles half-heartedly as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “What’d the old bag say?”

“Says he wants me to help them find the rat who’s been leaking information to the New Tartaglias. By any means necessary, basically.”

Sway frowns low. “But that ain’t your job.”

You rub your face. Your thoughts exactly. “It is now. Practically guilted me into doing it.” You lean forward, resting your elbows on the sturdy body of the piano – Charlene, you’ll have to get used to calling her. “He’s right about something at least. I don’t want to see you guys get hurt, not if I can help it.”

“___...,” he murmurs, rubbing your back. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen. Sans, Papyrus, and Undyne can handle themselves. As for me,” he perks up slightly, teasing you out of your slump, “I’m gonna need all the help I can get. I’m useless without ya, chickadee!” He grabs your waist and hoists you up off the stool. A wave of giggles tumbles out of you as he twirls you around the stage.

“Ya damn right, beanpole!” you yell, laughing uproariously. Sway laughs with you, rasping and rhythmic.

But your laughter is cut off when a host of men and monsters stagger tired and struggling single-file into the parlor. Sway sets you down and you two descend the stage, watching the ragtag group being led away to an adjacent section of the main building. Your eyes scan the angry and despairing faces, a bit frantic to catch sight of Sans, Papyrus, and Undyne. They finally come into view, bringing up the rear. Their faces are focused and dirty. Undyne sends Papyrus and Sans away, saying something you don’t catch. Sans turns and meets your eyes. You immediately breathe a sigh of relief and you swear you see his pupils brighten. They both walk over to you and Sway, but something’s off to you. Sans’ trademark grin is strained and he seems to be walking slower than usual, which is saying something. What happened?

You meet them halfway, hugging Papyrus tightly. He chuckles. “Hello, human.”

You smile up at him, saying, “Glad you’re back.” You release him and turn to Sans now. His grin eases a bit as you step close to him. He holds his left arm out; open, wanting, expecting. Your arms circle him and he tugs you near, but when you squeeze he groans low in his throat. You stiffen and pull back, worry growing in your heart. “You ok?” you ask, looking him over.

He flashes you a hesitant smile. “just a bit tender is all.”

“What happened?”

“you can probably guess.” You just frown. That doesn’t sound good.

“Need help?”

His face relaxes, his eyes on you. “actually yeah. just keep me company,” he says, turning to walk back to the apartments. You wave to Sway who smiles knowingly back at you, waving as well. You and Papyrus match pace with Sans as you make your way to their apartment.

“Did something go wrong?” you ask.

“Well, no, but my _brother_ decided it would be a very smart idea to run after the Barber and a group of men by himself,” Papyrus scolds, hands planted on his hips.

He shrugs, half-chuckle spilling from him. “what can i say. ‘m a numbskull.”

You throw him an unamused look. He sighs and keeps walking until they get to their apartment. You follow them inside and Papyrus says, “Make yourself at home, friend! I must go get cleaned up.” He disappears into his bedroom with a bound. Sans starts to enter his, but stops when he notices you not following. He turns and gives you a soft smirk. He waves a hand.

“c’mon. don’t be shy. ya already slept in here,” he says and you laugh, stepping in. He unholsters his guns, placing them on his desk with a faint clatter. What comes next makes you gasp. It’s a knife. But this ain’t any old shiv. It’s as long as your forearm from tip to pommel, if not longer, and looks wickedly sharp. You move next to Sans, eyes wide. Your hand reaches out, fingers hesitant to grasp it.

“’s alright,” Sans mutters, watching you with curious, wavering eye-lights.

Your twitching fingers wrap around the handle, knuckles turning bone-white from the strength of your grip. You bring it up in front of your face, reading the markings burned into it.

“J.A.T…. Cui cerca, trova. Cui sècuta, vinci…,” you whisper, the words clumsy and foreign on your tongue. “Know what it means?” you ask. Sans shakes his head. “Is it Italian?”

“might be. something we’ll ask w.d. about,” he says as he attempts to shrug off his jacket. He grimaces, closing his sockets, and groans in pain again, whispering, “damn.”

You place the knife back on the desk, its significance forgotten in favor of taking care of Sans. “Here, stop strugglin’ so much,” you chide with a small smile as your hands grasp the collar of his jacket. He tries extracting his arms, but you slap his hands away. He chuckles.

“ok, ok, sweetheart.”

“Just relax,” you mutter. You’re close. So close to him that his pine smell overwhelms the dirt and grime from the warehouse. You slide the jacket off him with a shifting of fabric, laying it over the post of his bed. Next you gently tug off his shoulder holsters. He huffs when he has to bend his arms behind his back a bit. “Almost done.” You motion to his shirt. “Now unbutton your shirt. You can do that right?” you tease with a sly wink. He grins at you, pupils liquid and warm.

“i can. though that’s different than wanting you to do it,” he says, roguish expression overtaking his features. You roll your eyes as you hang up his holster. When you turn he’s just finishing unfastening the buttons of his untucked shirt. You catch a glimpse of the thick, bleached bones of his chest. You steel yourself and try to ignore your fascination and the heat building up inside you. You circle behind him again, helping him take his shirt off. Okay, you’re not stupid, you know what a skeleton looks like generally, and you know he is one. Well, a monster that’s shaped like one at least. But you’re not prepared to really see his bare torso, bones and all. Your breath catches in wonder and amazed surprise. He automatically stands straighter, tensing up. But that disappears with a content, humming sigh when your hand strays of its own will to the bones of his back. They’re dense and much wider and thicker than you could ever believe human bones to be. Your fingers trace the warping grains, senses lost in the varying texture. Rough and smooth. Warm and cool. They’re so… _alive_. Alive in a way that Gaster’s are not. Sans’ are as full of life as the hand that splays across them.

And then you realize when a rumbling chuckle rouses you how incredibly forward and possibly even rude you’re being.

You take your hand back with a swift movement like you’d been burned and Sans turns his skull and a heated gaze at you. You can’t help the blush spreading hot and fast over your face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –” But his hand reaches out to take yours. His fingers are strong and confident around yours even though his voice is gruff and layered with timidity.

“’s alright. i, uh, didn’t mind,” he says with a crooked smile. He pulls you closer and lays your hand on his shoulder once more. “not everyday ya see a skeleton, huh?” he asks with a voice full of mirth. You laugh, still a bit abashed, but his confidence steadily trickles into you. As he folds up his shirt, your other hand joins in tracing his ribs and spine, fascinated by the way his shoulder-blades move and slide with muted clicks over his bones. Your touch is feather-light, a gentle caress.

Sans bows his head and shoves his hands into his pockets, just immensely enjoying the attention and tender touches. No one has ever touched him like this. Never like this. And he doesn’t know if he can go back to not knowing it again. Not like he’d want to. Your calloused hands show such soft kindness. His magic whirrs in his bones, searching for the source of his satisfaction, desperate to hold onto that foreign magic-that’s-not-magic that smoothes out the wrinkles of his soul, whittles down the rough edges, and fills in the long-standing cracks. It wants to love and protect and it takes an extraordinary amount of effort to keep himself in check.

Not that you’re noticing any of this, just watching his chest rise and fall, with real or imagined breath, you’re not sure. But you do feel the droning of his bones ebb and flow beneath your fingertips. They skirt around, eventually catching on something that makes you peer close. Between his shoulder-blades and to the right of his spine is what looks like a tiny fracture, it’s legs thin and creeping. It’s small, but it’s there. Your thumb brushes over it.

“ow.”

“Yep. You have a small crack in one of your ribs.” Your hands lay on his back gently.

“figured,” he huffs, aggravated.

“Do we need to…do anything? I don’t know monster medicine,” you ask, a bit upset at your own lack of knowledge.

“nah. monsters heal quick. it’ll be right as rain in no time.”

Maybe it’s just so ingrained in you from your childhood, but you don’t even really think when you bend and place your lips softly over the crack in a brief, but tender kiss. A surprised, but truly endearing sound pops up out of his chest. You straighten and he’s staring at you now with wide sockets. You grin at him, only a bit embarrassed.

“Sorry, um, it’s something my parents would do. Kiss it, make it better,” you trail off, teeth working at your lip. His sockets stay wide, but you’ve never seen his pupils brighter, mischievous, or more confusingly sincere.

“my mouth hurts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mine too, Sans. Mine too.
> 
> Kiss it, make it better, stud.
> 
> Mob Boss Host Variety Drinking Hour: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	27. You Go to My Head

You laugh, but your eyes are wide, your smile wider. His gaze shoots into you, a deadeye, lighting you aflame. The red-hot flush spreads across your face and you think you see a blue counterpart flood his cheekbones. What could it hurt? Hopefully nothing, because isn’t that what it’s for? Soothe him, soothe you. Kiss it, make it better. Your mouth closes now, genuinely upturned, and you step. Your footfalls fall flat in the quiet dark, a stark contrast to the rapid gallop of your heartbeat.

“Well…let me make it better,” you say.

You hear his breath hitch as you come near. His bright pupils look at you through lidded sockets. Your hand raises to rest along his sturdy jaw and he leans into it, craving that touch, getting as much as he can. Closer still. Until you finally cut that pregnant distance, placing your lips to his waiting mouth. A _very_ small part of you just meant to make it brief, but the rest of you and it seems all of Sans took up the slack, jerking it forward, crashing, breaking the levee, surpassing the floodgates. Sans’ bare arms snap up to wrap around you and your own hands grip his skull as you move your lips with unrelaxed, breathless eagerness. He presses up against you, holding you, feeling you, his hands on your hips and your back and your mind. His chest and ribs lie along yours and damn you if it’s not the most erotic thing you’ve ever felt. You’re swiftly losing yourself in this river, in the storm of him. You really don’t care though. Your heart has been longing for this much longer than you’ve even known yourself. Your arms obey your heart and slide to his back and shoulders, tightening.

And then he gasps in pain.

You immediately release him, trying to back up, cursing your forgetfulness as you apologize, “I’m sorry!” His arms are a cage though, still keeping you flush against his body. His pained and strained grin stretches across his otherwise dazed and satisfied face.

“’m ok,” he assures, cringing.

“Yeah, no, you’re not,” you laugh. He bends again, easing against your lips; not as forceful, but still just as heated. A small noise sits in your throat and he groans, arms squeezing. But you place your hands on his chest, pushing back, enough to just separate. He looks down at you with questioning eyes. “You’re still hurt. Rest is more important right now.”

“beg to differ,” he murmurs, teasing the small space between your faces. But you place a hand against his mouth and he chuckles, low in his chest.

“Not until you’re better. I mean it,” you say, offering no argument or recourse. His eyes burn into yours for a moment longer before his hands slip. You step back and cross your arms, an enthusiastic smirk on your raw lips.

He steps close again though, hand resting on your cheek. His thumb rubs your cheekbone and your smile grows, feeling it everywhere. “i’m holdin’ ya to that, sweetheart,” he says, voice deep and brimming with promise.

“Alright,” you whisper, heart flipping from the future. You jerk your head to his bathroom. “Now go clean up.” He lets loose a rolling laugh, stepping around you. His hand lingers and slides along your chin before he leaves.

“like paps said, make yourself at home, ___.” Then the door closes.

You stand there in the dimly lit room, trying to cool the fire inside you. It threatens to consume and, honestly, you’re more than tempted to join Sans right now. But you shake your head and rub your tender, smiling lips, turning around. A high rasp brings you out of your daydream.

“Human?” Papyrus calls.

You step out of Sans’ room and catch the tall, lanky skeleton brother in the kitchen. He swivels and when he spies you, he grins, pupils glinting the slightest bit. It might just be the lighting though, you assure yourself.

“Would you like to have hot chocolate with me?” he asks.

You perk up. “Yeah! That sounds really great actually. Been a long night.” He chuckles softly as he gathers the ingredients and starts working. You plop into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, watching him bounce around.

“How was yours, if I may ask? Was everything ok here?” Papyrus asks as he sets two mugs down, taking a seat next to you.

“It was fine. With Sway for most of it. But, Gaster came to talk to me.” His bony brow raises in surprise and apprehension.

“What did he say?”

You draw the mug to your chest, soaking up the heat that leaks from the weathered ceramic. Trying to dispel his cold words and chilling touch. An unwilling memory that rises at the slightest attention, like it feeds on it. “Wants me to help him find the rat.”

“In what way?” he insists, voice coloring in concern.

“Whatever way possible, basically. But he said it rides on my staying here, so…I don’t really have a choice,” you say, quiet and despondent. But when you look back up at him, it’s with fire in your eyes. “I’ll do what it takes to keep you guys safe though.”

Papyrus sits back in his chair and rubs his chin thoughtfully. “You should not have to.” He sighs at a troubling idea. “Sans will not be happy.” Yeah, that's troubling, alright. He leans forward, pinning you down with his eyes. “You must be careful. Do not provoke W.D., but do not put yourself in danger. You must stay safe.”

“safe from what, exactly?” a deep and suspicious voice asks.

You and Papyrus whip your heads up to stare wide-eyed and caught in Sans’ commanding gaze. This must be what it feels like to stare into the waiting barrel of a gun. It’s cold, unforgiving steel, the hammer is cocked and anticipating, waiting, _praying_ for the next move to show its ugly mug.

“UH,” Papyrus stammers, “Safe from the heat of the chocolate?” he offers lamely.

“don’t bullshit me, bro,” Sans says, stone-faced.

Papyrus sighs and sits back, defeated. “W.D. talked to them while we were away.” Sans’ eyes flash as he waits.

“and?” he asks, becoming more incensed and insistent. He steps up behind you, looming. His hand wraps around the top of your chair.

“He would like them to help him catch the informant. As,” Papyrus looks at you, “a stipulation to staying here.”

Sans clenches his jaw and his hand tightens, making the wood groan and creak in discomfort. “that wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Well Gaster made an addendum. I don’t have a choice,” you say, looking down.

“yes ya do. you could not,” he grinds out, circling around in front of you. He’s close because his arm is still anchored to the chair, rigid and without compromise. His dim pupils follow suit, forcing yours to meet them. You do.

“I can’t not, Sans. Gaster’ll be watching, we _all_ know that. He doesn’t give a shit; if I don’t help then he’s going to throw me out. I won’t last with the Barber’s men still after me. _You_ know that,” you argue, frowning. “Plus, if I can help keep you guys safe, then I will.”

Sans growls, rubbing a hand down his face. “ya don’t need to worry about us.”

You poke his chest. “Oh yeah? Says the guy with a cracked rib?”

“You have a cracked rib?” Papyrus chimes in, very concerned now.

“it’s nothin’,” Sans hedges, throwing you a hard look.

“Sans, you must be more careful!” Papyrus yells, standing to hover over his brother. Sans holds up his hands and straightens, stepping back.

“’m fine, paps, i swear.”

Now Papyrus looks to you for confirmation. “It’s small, but he’ll need rest.” Sans shoves his hands in his pockets, glaring at the table.

“what does he want ya to do?” Sans finally asks, still angry.

You lean forward, resting your forearms on the hardwood table. “Anything I can, basically.”

“fuckin’ great,” Sans mutters under his breath. Papyrus is busy at work, prodding Sans’ back gently. You cringe when he starts honing in on the crack and when he does, Sans jerks with a sharp intake of pain. “knock it off, bro!” he pleads, but Papyrus just grins and keeps on, unafraid, slapping Sans’ hands away. Sans is morose with unvented anger and frustration now. He meets your eyes again. “don’t do anythin’ crazy. ‘s not worth it. _your_ safety is important, ya hear me?”

You cross your arms, wanting to look away. But you give him your attention and sincerity. “Alright.”

He nods sharply, clearly still not happy with this turn of events. “ya done, paps?” he asks his brother, rolling his shoulders in impatience.

“Yes, yes, fine.” He turns Sans and points a long, stern finger in his face. “You must rest, brother. No more shenanigans. Not until you heal, at least.”

“aw, ya know me too well, bro,” Sans chuckles, shaking his head. “go on ta bed, paps. i’ll be in soon.”

Papyrus hugs his brother, then you excitedly, yelling, “Good night, human!” He sprints to his bedroom. After Papyrus closes his door, Sans looks back at you, asking, “did ya wanna stay over?” His eyes are so hopeful.

“I could crash on your couch, yeah.”

He clears his throat, “no. i mean….” He angles his head to his bedroom. Your eyes widen and a spear of longing hits your core. Your heart leaps into your throat, body wanting as it remembers his restless mouth on yours. Boy…do you want to.

“I dunno if that’s a smart idea. We both know where that would go,” you say, smile a bit shy.

“and the problem?” he asks, walking up to you slowly, calculated, a predator.

“You have to rest.” You smirk. “And I’d make ya work for it.” His hands fall to your hips, tugging you forward to rest against him. He looks down at you, hungry, needy, burning. Your playfulness subsides into desire. “Because…believe me, I want it too,” you whisper. His eye turns blue for a second and his breath catches.

“you’re makin’ it really hard to say no,” he breathes out, voice rumbling.

You smile, reaching up. “Well…later, it’ll be a yes. When you’re better, skele-man.” You press your lips to his mouth and he takes them for his own, pressing. His arms circle your back, bending you and your will to him as easily as a tree in the face of a hurricane. He groans in his throat and it only serves to make you hotter. Any longer and you _will_ be in his bed, his mouth shredding any kind of resolve you thought you had. With a desperate gasp, you pull away, beaming and panting. His pupils are fluorescent and he shares your same ecstatic grin. He goes in again and you know you’ll be lost if you do, so you angle your head. He chuckles so low it’s almost a growl and instead he aims for your throat.

“ _Sans_ ,” you gasp, knees shaking from the pressure on your neck. This was not what you had in mind, but, god, you just _don’t care_.

“i love when you say my name,” he murmurs to your skin, an intimate utterance shared in the most private of conversations. You shudder in exhilaration. He’s never going to heal if you both keep on. So you remedy that, prodding his crack as softly as you can. He still hisses in pain, breaking away. “cheater,” he pouts.

“Sorry, but neither of us would be able to stop,” you say, a little guilty and disappointed yourself. “It’s probably best if I just go back to my room.”

He huffs in defeat. “at least lemme take ya back.”

“Fine,” you agree. He pulls you to him again and hugs you tight. His eye lights up and one impenetrably black fall later, you’re in your room. Sans’ hand lifts to cradle your cheek, thumb skimming your chin, then your lips. He stares into your bright eyes for a long moment.

He says, “one more for the road. promise.” He tilts his skull and you meet him halfway, willingly complicit. It’s the softest kiss yet, but you’re thrown by how much passion you feel from it, on his end and your own. It seems like your chest is igniting, being stoked from the inside out, someplace so much a part of you that there’s the haziest of separations, like clouded fog over the mirror surface of a lake in those early morning hours. You’re not sure where one begins or ends, but you know that they must. Yet…it’s all just water in the end, returned to each other when the sun breaks and scorches the sky. You both sigh when you part, almost unable to wait until tomorrow.

“night, sweetheart,” he murmurs as his hand drops.

“Night, Sans. Get some rest,” you say, smile breaking your stunned features. He returns it.

And then he, and the fog, are gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'VE TEASED YOU LONG ENOUGH
> 
> Mob Boss Host Variety Drinking Hour: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	28. More Than You Know

Bone. Bone so white and bleached and worn rough by the sun and the world at work that it’s almost blinding. Especially in contrast to how it slides across your heated skin, warming you almost to the point of discomfort. You vaguely wonder how it’s so bright and hot. Growls and short snatches of breath reverberate through your mind and you want more. Just a bit more. Your eyelids flutter and suddenly, you’re back in reality, flushed and wanting. The sun lays right on your face and you squint, desperate to keep out the horrid rays. You throw an arm over your face and you close your eyes again, groaning because the wonderful dreams you were having are slipping away fast and all you want to do is be submerged in them forever. A smile lifts your lips when you remember last night. At least the object of your dreams is just one floor above you. It feels like you’ve barely been awake ten minutes before you hear rapid knocking on your door. A singsong, rasping voice yells out in the hallway and it makes you laugh, all the way from your belly.

“Oh, chickadee! Wakey, wakey, eggs and bacey, except I have neither of those things, just coffee!”

Your laughs grow as you tumble out of bed, still groggy. Thank god he has coffee. You open the door to a grinning Sway, who, by the grace of all the gods above and below, has two full mugs in his hands.

“Morning,” he says, stepping inside without a shred of humility.

“Morning,” you respond with a tired smile. Sway swaggers over to your bed, making himself comfortable on the strewn bedspread and sheets. You wave a hand around. “I’d say sorry it’s messy, but I know ya don’t care.” You follow and take a place beside him, folding up your legs in front of you. He chuckles and offers you a blissful cup.

“Ya know me too well. Usually when I see a mess like this though, I hope they at least had some fun in makin’ it.” He leans close with a delightful smirk playing across his lips. “Am I wrong, chickadee?” he prods.

You chuckle and shove his face away, patting his cheek. “Nah, sorry. No fun. But…,” he whips his head to you when you pause, smirk quickly twisting into a wide grin. “I had fun dreams.” You bite your lip as you smile and take a sip of your coffee.

“It was me, wasn’t it?! No need to be shy, I knew ya couldn’t resist all this, I’ve seen you eat chocolate before like it’s no one’s business at all,” he teases, poking your side as he laughs. You almost spit your coffee in your mirth, laughing loud and rhythmically.

“Sorry, beanpole, not about you.” You blow a kiss his way and he snatches it with mighty, overdrawn reluctance. But you point upward, to the floor resting just feet above your heads. “It was about…you know who…,” you mutter, smiling to high heaven and the skeleton above again.

“Psh, please, chickadee, I dream about him too,” Sway says with a happy roll of his eyes. You laugh again, bumping his shoulder, blushing furiously.

“Well,  _you_ didn't kiss him last night,” you finally say. Now _that_ catches his attention and he shoots up from the bed, whooping loud and proud. How he manages to keep all his coffee in his mug, safe and sound, is beyond you.

“I _knew_ ya had it in ya, chickadee! Finally! WOO, boy, y’all were dancin’ forever, I almost thought y’all would run outta songs!” Sway yells, ecstatic. It was a while wasn’t it? Even though you’d known you were attracted to him, it just…didn’t happen until now. Not that you’re complaining. But he stops his own hopping to point at you accusingly. “Why is he not here sharin’ this wonderful bed with an even more wonderful you? Makin’ that dream a _reality_?” he asks, voice lilting and wickedly seductive.

“Because he got hurt at the raid,” you say, frowning the slightest bit. His own face falls.

Sway sits back down and asks, “He gonna be alright?”

“Oh yeah, he just needs rest.” Your smile returns. “I just wouldn’t go easy on him,” you whisper. Sway catches it and starts wheezing, slapping his knee.

“Ya got that right. Sansy best watch himself, he’s gonna get himself a good time, I’m sure,” Sway razzes. You both calm and sit in comfortable silence, sipping the warm brew and enjoying each other’s company. The late morning light filters in from the dusty and hot outside city to your bare interior space. The harshness of the concrete jungle is enough to make your room look like a home, just by contrast alone. Sway breaks the pleasing quiet. “So did Sans find out what W.D. asked ya to do?”

Your features twist. “Yeah. He was not happy about it.”

“Didn’t think he would be.”

“I’m not gonna do anything stupid, obviously. But…what do I do, Sway? How do I go about even doing this? W.D. is gonna want _something_ , and you know he’s gonna be watching,” you ask, almost pleading in your wandering confusion. You feel disoriented and lost, unsure of where to go. Like you took a wrong turn and ended up in a back-alley neighborhood about as welcoming as the gun glaring at your back.

“Well…you’ll be smart about it, I think. Just listen around. Lotta people run their fat mouths, especially after a few good drinks. And if you’re onto somethin’, a coaxin’ ain’t gonna hurt none,” Sway offers, rubbing his smooth jaw. He throws his arm around your shoulder, pulling you in close. “But I’ll be keepin’ an eye on ya, don’t worry. Won’t let anyone mess with ya, I promise.”

You lean into his embrace, your fears easing somewhat. His words give you courage. “Thanks, Sway.”

“No problem, chickadee.” He shoves you off the bed unceremoniously. You turn and throw a confused glare at him. “Now go on, get ready for the day,” he says with a smile.

“Do we got somethin’ goin’ on?” you ask, gathering clothes.

“Life, missy! Now shoo!”

You laugh and disappear into the bathroom. It doesn’t take long before you’re ready and Sway escorts you out of your room. He offers his lanky and wiry arm with a sweeping bow and you take it with a smirk.

“Thank ya kindly.”

“Why, of course, chickadee. Every bird’s gotta have a perch, right?” he asks, eyes twinkling.

“How fitting that you’re a beanpole,” you tease lovingly, gesturing up and down to all of his tall, thin stature. He grins and reaches over to pinch your cheek.

“So cheeky.” You and Sway walk the rest of the way to the parlor, laughing and chatting. What a great way to start the day you think. Your mood, and heart, skyrockets when you enter the parlor, because you spot Sans with Papyrus and Undyne at the bar. They turn as you both walk in, and you swear the genuine smile that breaks across Sans’ face leaves you breathless. It’s a grin so unrestrained, one could effortlessly become obsessed with it. You know at least that you’ll try your best to make it happen as often as you can. You and Sway stroll over to them, waving your greetings. Sway parks you in front of Sans, extending his arm and you forward. Sans’ smile widens and he holds a waiting arm out. You laugh and step into it. His dense arm snakes around your waist and tugs you to him. Not a moment later, he presses his mouth to yours in a soft but insistent kiss. Your astonishment swiftly gives way to joyful acceptance, your hands resting firm on his shoulders. Your lips move and he tilts his skull, drinking each other in. A couple of sharp wolf whistles pierce the thick atmosphere and you pull apart with a bubbling laugh. Sans’ chuckle rolls out of him and you both look over to the ecstatic faces beside you. Undyne has her arms in the air, whooping, while Papyrus sits clapping. Sway is standing, looking smug as a cat after a caged bird.

“what? ain’tcha ever seen a kiss before?” Sans asks them, but not really, contentedly going back in for another one. You allow it with no argument whatsoever, honestly enjoying the pounding of your heart and his mouth on yours. He mutters against your tender lips, “mornin’, sweetheart.”

“Morning,” you mouth along, smiling all the while.

“Yeah, yeah, ya lucky dog, yadda yadda,” Sway laughs, taking a seat next to you, when you get the opportunity to climb on one. Sans’ hand migrates to your knee, stroking the flesh and bone just beneath your pants.

“How’s your back?” you ask, trying hard to ignore the heat traveling from his fingers, zigzagging up the nerves in your leg like lightning.

“better every hour.” He leans to whisper gruffly in your ear, squeezing your knee, “so count ‘em.” You laugh and roll your eyes, but you’re all too aware of what that means to you and how your body is responding to it.

Sway breaks the hidden tension, asking, “So what’re y’all gonna do with all them Tartaglias you scrounged up?”

“Interrogate ‘em. We start today,” Undyne says.

“when do ya need me?” Sans asks, taking a sip of his mug of coffee.

“We won’t. Papyrus told me about your injury, so you’re sittin’ this one out,” she says.

Sans groans and drags a hand down his face, shooting Papyrus an unamused scowl, who shrugs and shouts, “WHAT? You are!”

Undyne leans across Papyrus’ broad body, yellow eye glinting in delight. “You’re on guard duty outside tonight instead.” Sans rests his skull on the countertop, grumbling in annoyed dismay. You pat his hand, chuckling.

Sway leans over to you, muttering, “Oh, forgot to tell ya, there ain’t no show tonight either.”

Your brow raises. “How come?”

“M says repairs aren’t quite finished. Ya know, with like the walk he does and the exasperated hair flip. I think his words were, ‘They’re blowing this so hard, they’re never gonna finish,’” Sway says, wheezing by the end. You bark out a laugh and lean forward to cover your face, determined to keep your snorts under wraps. You hear Sans chuckle beside you, watching your reaction. He’s glad you get along so well with Sway. You break out, becoming even more open, carefree, and naturally flirtatious and Sans loves to see it happen. He almost can’t wait. Can’t wait to make you his, and he, yours. His thumb rubs along your thigh and you smile broadly. _Your_  night, at least, is free. Something ingrained deep inside of you pulses. Maybe this night might be your chance. You know it could be dangerous, but…it’s been far too long.

Damn the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a....day late? AH! My bad, America Day happened, and drinks happened after and then nothing happens when that happens. Except for independence.
> 
> BUT HERE IT IS
> 
> Enjoy, I love you <3
> 
> Mob Boss Host Variety Drinking Hour: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	29. Lark on the Strand

A blanket of silence sweeps over the building. It’s been several hours since M closed up the parlor for the night. You’re going to be late and the thought causes a surge of urgency to shoot through you. You push it down. They tend to go late into the night anyway. Now that’s a thought that puts a smile on your face. You change into some loose fitting dark clothes. Nothing fancy. Where you’re going, it doesn’t need to be fancy. _Plus, it wouldn’t be the first time someone spilled whiskey on me_ , you think with a wry fondness. You don’t anticipate running into any trouble, but it’d be pretty stupid to go out without some protection, so you strap your switchblade and gun to your thigh. The last thing you grab is your leather case, tucking it securely under your arm.

You open your door slowly. The hinges protest and your fingers grip the heavy wooden frame when you poke your head out into the hall, making sure the coast is clear. Nothing. Perfect. You close the door behind you, tucking it gently into its jamb to rest, locking it safe. You pad down the hall, feet moving you along at a steady pace. There are a few night owls up in the rooms as you pass, the sounds of drunkenness, revelry, and sometimes the heated groans of rushed pleasure echoing into the hallway. It reminds you of Sans. That thought simultaneously makes you bit your lip, blushing, and move quicker and even quieter. The thought of him or Sway finding out what you’re doing twists your insides, but you push it away viciously. Now’s not the time. You’ll be careful. But this is something you _need_ to do.

You finally find the way out of the building. The cool and dusty air hits your face, making you sigh. Every time you step out into the street, you find yourself missing it a little more. It’s still not safe for you to be wandering around, especially when there’s a bounty on your head by the Barber’s gang. But the concern is far from your mind this late at night, Sans’ warning waning with the sun's arid light. Darkness and time have a way of pushing away the fears of the day. Though sometimes they’re replaced by even more menacing ones. Ones that steal away under the covers, waiting until you fuck up, trip up just a bit, to show their true form. You make your way down the street, sticking to the shadows.

You’re not aware of the shadow that follows.

~~~~~~~~~

There it is. You come up to the pub, faint music drifting out through the cracks in the windows and doors. You step inside and a wide grin splits your face when it washes over you, a pleasant memory. In the center of the room is a circle of chairs. Filling those chairs are weathered and happy faces you’ve known for years. They turn when they hear the door close. A shorter man with a smallish drum stands up and shouts, “___!” He jogs over to you, running into several chairs, but is never thrown himself, his stocky body and sheer determination keeping him afloat of the whiskey that he’s surely swimming in. You laugh and yell, “Tim!” back, running up to give him a bear of a hug. His large arms pick you up, swinging you back and forth.

“Shit, lass, where ya been?” Tim says in that damn charming, wantonly slurring Irish accent.

You chuckle, extremely happy to just be back in the fold. “Had to relocate. Ran into some trouble.”

He roars with laughter. “Tha’s my girl, jus’ like ya, too! Well come on, come on, we been waitin’ for ya.” He leads you over to the circle, sitting between him and a fiddler named Kate. You nod and wave to everyone, unpacking your case. You take the tubes out, joining them end to end, making sure the bored holes line up. Kate leans over to you, bright smile on her freckle-kissed face, playing a tuning note for you.

“Glad you’re back. It’s been a hell of a time keeping all these men in one piece.”

You chuckle and sound a few test notes over the mouthpiece of your flute, adjusting the slide to match her. “I bet. Let’s whip these fuckers into shape, yeah?” She nods, laughing with you.

Tim puts down his well-worn and well-loved bodhran and fills up a glass with whiskey, handing it to you. He raises his own, and you look into each other’s eyes, toasting as you say, “Sláinte!” You tip it back and breathe out a fast stream of air from the delightful heat that’s making its way down your throat. Tim chuckles, cheeks rosy, and he punches your arm before picking up his drum and tipper.

“Let’s give ___ a warm Irish welcome back, yeah?” he asks, voice loud and surprisingly clear in the bar. Kate draws her bow, long and slow over the strings, fingers smoothly sliding and tripping with grace and ease over the neck as she plays an achingly sweet air. You smile, content, heart warming as fast as your belly. As she finishes up, Tim mutters, “Lovely, jus’ lovely.”

As the last notes die out, she moves, gradually getting faster and faster until she’s slipping, full-tilt into a monster of a reel. You know this one. They sure do know how to welcome you back. You set your flute to your mouth and match pace. Your fingers fly and Tim whoops, joining in with the rest of the players. Rolling reels, slides, waltzes, hornpipes, and lilting jigs of every kind change hands; laughs and whiskey flowing free. So caught up in the music and fun, neither you nor any of the others in the session notice when someone appears out of thin air in one of the dark alcoves of the pub. If someone had been looking, they would have seen a flash of blue illuminate the space briefly. No such luck. For them that is.

Sans leans up against the wall, shifting to make his back comfortable. It’s getting better, should be nearly healed now, but it twinges sometimes. He pulls the brim of his hat low over his bright and focused eye-lights. Wouldn’t do well to be caught right now. He’d followed you ever since you’d stepped foot outside of the building. W.D. and Undyne had asked him to walk the perimeter after M closed up. And he did. At first. But it was too nice of a night to not smoke the cigar that G.D. had given him. You can’t just walk around and enjoy such a fine cigar. Nah, you gotta stay put and lean against the wall _just_ right. Would be rude not to. And Sans is nothing if not a gentleman. It just so happened that his job turned into leisure right near the door you’d stolen out from. Lucky him. He was shocked at first, to say the least, if not slightly impressed. Had he not been there, he doubts anyone would’ve noticed you’d gone until morning. But that feeling was quickly replaced by a strong surge of burning anger and icy worry. What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing? Why would you be leaving? How many times has he said how dangerous it is out there for you, not only at night, but the fact you’re wanted dead? Damn it, there’d only _just_ been an attempt on your life. Did he not warn you to be more careful? Do you live just to ignore everything he’s said? He almost grabbed you right then, but…he stopped himself. Sans is curious at heart. He wanted to know _where_ you’re going, in addition to _why_. So he stamped his cigar out with a hiss, placed it in his coat’s breast pocket, and followed you to this pub. His surprise grew as he watched and listened. He knew you could sing. He didn’t know you could play. You look so at home here, like you’ve been doing this for years. He thinks you probably have. So he waits, patient, content with the knowledge that you’re safe for the time being; enjoying your music and the way your body moves to it, your laugh, your smile. The way he wants to kiss that smile. The way your soul resonates in joyful, long-awaited fellowship.

The session winds down and it’s very late now. Everyone is packing up their instruments. You take apart your flute, placing it carefully back in its case. You hug Kate goodbye, saying, “I’ll be back. Can’t leave you by yourself with all these guys.”

She giggles, winking at you conspiratorially, responding, “Well…maybe with _some_ of ‘em.” You crack up, hugging her close one last time.

You turn to Tim and he puts his arm around your shoulder, walking you none-too-straight to the door. “Now be safe walkin’ back ya hear? And don’ be a stranger.” He hugs you tight and you giggle when he presses a fat kiss to your cheek, his bushy mustache tickling your face. You pat his cheek as he pushes you in the direction of the door, shouting with a laugh, “Off with ya, love!”

You chuckle and blow him a kiss. “See ya ‘round, Tim.”

You step outside and the illusion is dispelled. That sense of urgency is back, but clouded by the whiskey and the memories of the night. You move quickly down the street, sticking once again to the shadows as you make your way back to your new home. You pass by an alley shrouded in darkness. However, your heart jumps into your throat when you feel a dense, claw-like hand grab your wrist, dragging you into the consuming black. A scream would have torn its way out of your throat if another hand hadn’t clamped down across your mouth. Is this how you die? Because of your stupid wants, not able to say goodbye, before… before you can even be with…. Your body screams no, not if you have anything to say about it. It wrenches as you struggle against the iron grip, the fire inside you raging out of control. You strain to reach your thigh. But a familiar voice rolls low, gruff, and deep into your ear. You still.

“nice night for a stroll, huh?”

You slump, your adrenaline-ridden body singing a song of relief. Sans takes his hand from your mouth slowly, making sure you’re not going to scream. You push off his solid body, turning to punch him square on the arm. He lets out a shocked laugh, clapping his hand to his attacked appendage. You glare at him, hugging your arms and case to your chest, trying to slow your frantic heartbeat. Despite your anger, you’re fucking glad it’s him.

“Dammit, Sans, don’t fucking do that again. You scared me half to death.”

His smile is amused, but strained. Stretched thin across his face. “well ya woulda been scared any way i got your attention.”

You huff, ignoring his seemingly good-natured attitude, demanding, “The hell are you doin’ out here anyway?”

His eyes take on a steely glint as he shoves his hands in his pockets. He drops his pretense and his smile. “could ask ya the same thing, sweetheart.”

You pale and don’t reply, opting for silence. He steps close to you, voice lowering. “but i guess i won’t since i saw why.” He takes out one hand, poking your flute case. “while it was damn impressive, and i’m glad you had fun, gotta say, it was a pretty stupid move.” The hard look in his eye crystallizes. “what did i _just_ tell you— _have_ been telling you? do you know how dangerous it is out here for you? do you realize how lucky you were it was me who dragged ya into this godforsaken alley?” He grimaces in anger at the thought of someone else’s hands on you, taking you or worse. “don’t make my effort and promise to keep you safe mean nothing.”

Your reproachful look smooths out as you listen. He has a point, but you’d made that deal with the devil the moment you stepped outside the parlor. You say, quietly, “It doesn’t mean nothing. Not to me.”

He takes a step, pointing fiercely at the ground. “but it will if you get killed,” he hisses. The wind stirs the dirt and trash about your ankles, moving stiffly in the tense air.

You look away for a second, before meeting his eyes, the fire returning. “I feel like a caged animal sometimes, Sans. I had to get out.” You gesture back to the pub. “That, in there? It’s _part_ of me. Do you understand?”

His hands come to rest on your arms, squeezing, ire tempered by concern. “i do. but you won’t be able to enjoy that part of you if you’re dead. i’d rather not see that happen. not if i can help it. not now, not ever.”

You look down, equal parts frustrated, upset, and sad. You hate to admit it, but he’s right. You give a small, sharp nod that belies your somber tone, “I’m sorry.”

His hand raises, fingers raising your chin to look up at him. His thumb skirts your jaw and his eyes search yours. The fire and ice breaks, thawing, when he smiles. “let’s take a shortcut home, yeah?” You nod again, one corner of your mouth tilting. He draws you in close, hugging you to him. His mouth finds itself on the top of your head, pressing gently against your hair. You wrap your arms around him, smelling that pine scent, mixed with the sweet spice of cigar smoke. It fills you, embraces you as securely as his arms. You hear his eye flare to life with a crackle and you shut your eyes as you fall. When you open them again, you’re back in your room. You gather yourself and realize Sans’ head is bowed now, tucked between your neck and shoulder. He breathes and you feel the hot air passing over your skin. Your cheeks warm along with something else deep inside your chest as you stare wide-eyed towards the ceiling. What the…? But your surprised, half-formed thoughts are interrupted, forgotten, when he pulls back, hat brushing against the soft waves of your hair. The bones of his face slide rough against the side of yours, and it awakens every nerve in your body it seems. Even more when his mouth brushes across your lips. Your fingers twitch as they gather up the fabric of his suit. His mirror yours. He moves away a little more, though not without effort. His sockets are lidded as he stares down at you. He clears his throat, voice husky when he speaks, “how ‘bout a compromise? when ya wanna go out again, lemme know and i’ll go with ya. that way you’re safe.”

The spell is broken to a degree. Though the creeping heavy feeling in your chest only amplifies. “You would do that?”

He nods, eye-lights serious. “yeah. promised i wouldn’t let anything happen to ya. and if it gets ya to stop sneakin’ around, then i’ll do it.”

Now it’s Sans turn to be surprised when you throw your arms around him once again, so forceful that he has to take a step backwards. He chuckles and his arms come up to hug you once more. He murmurs, “remember when i took ya to see grillby? and ya said you owe me?” He feels you nod. “this is what i ask. will you please trust me and stop putting yourself in danger? for you and for me?” He pauses for a moment, before adding quietly, “i don’t wanna lose you.”

His surprise multiplies in the best of ways when you whisper against his skull, “Yes, I promise. Thank you,” before placing a soft, lingering kiss to his cheekbone, trailing down to his mouth. His breath hitches. Boy, does he like it when you do that. For such a fiery personality, he finds himself loving this gentle side of you just as much.

But it lights a fire inside of him nonetheless. One he can’t ignore or deny any longer. Not since his relief at the surety of your safety. His arms tighten around you, tugging you to press along the length of his body. His mouth slides easy and eager on yours. His hands wander, pushing and pulling at the skin underneath your clothes. One fists itself in your hair while the other flattens on the small of your back, forcing your hips against his. A feverish spear of arousal settles deep in your belly, igniting a desperate need. Your lips part in a rushed gasp, your tongue slipping out to taste his mouth, unable to help yourself in your fervor. He growls and draws your hair tighter, subtly and gently tilting your head back so he can do the same for you. His eye flares to life and his tongue meets yours. A heavy moan sits in the back of your throat, the scent of him and that almost sweet, clean taste invading you, like the humid air after a storm. His tongue is almost soft, like a mist, but glass-like and slightly textured. When his canines prick your lips you groan shamelessly, trying to get even closer to him. His chuckles turn into hot, heaving breaths as your hands trail up his neck to cradle his skull. Your fingernails scrape the rough bones there and he starts moving, pushing you up against the wall. You let out a soft laugh, your excitement building deliciously inside you. It demands for you to grind your hips against his and he rumbles his approval, pressing back. His skull tilts and he licks your lips, kissing down to your jaw. You start panting, thoughts and will crumbling beneath his mouth and fingertips.

You whisper as he kisses underneath your jaw, rolling your head on the wall, “Don’t you have like…guard stuff?”

He growls softly, tightening around you, holding you for a long moment. Like he’s at war with himself. He sighs, long and low, and his heated breath makes your skin sing. “guess you’re right.” He pulls back to steal a kiss from your tender lips one more time. “soon,” he says, a wonderful promise in his deep voice.

“And your back?” you ask as your hands slip to his shoulders.

“nearly healed, sweetheart. so get ready,” he growls with a smirk.

You twist in his grip, drawing a line down his vertebrae, throwing your own smirk his way. “I bet if you searched a bit more, you’d see just how ready I am.”

He groans loudly and throws his skull back. “you’re makin’ it really fuckin’ hard to leave.”

“Well I’ll make it easy,” you laugh, pushing him off with a grunt. He lets go reluctantly, flashing you a hungry look. He straightens his clothes and you follow him to the door. Before he steps out, he pulls you to him again, his mouth crashing against yours. You melt and hum, that warm feeling spreading throughout your chest and body.

“night, sweetheart,” he mutters, voice rough.

“Night, Sans. Thank you again.”

“’course,” he says, hand cupping your chin briefly before stepping out, and then away.

You go to bed that night feeling more fulfilled than you had been in a long while. You dream of fast notes and slow hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is late! Life stuff happened and I got very behind as a result. But here's a longer chapter and the plot thickens like a damn good gravy.
> 
> Enjoy and I love ya kids <3
> 
>  
> 
> Mob Boss Host Variety Drinking Hour: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	30. Back in the Saddle Again

Another day, another dollar.

This thought keeps your feet marching forward, despite the exhaustion you feel. You’d slept. But only as much as your wild dreams would allow. So now you’re up at a time before you think even a rooster would sing. You open the heavy door to the parlor and a ringing shout almost makes you turn tail and head back to bed right then and there.

“ _CHICKADEE!_ ”

You rub both your hands down your face and peek through your fingers to a tall man stalking toward you with fire in his eyes. The hell has gotten into Sway? But when you look behind him to a wryly grinning Sans and Papyrus, you know _exactly_ what’s gotten into him. A few bad leaks of information that’s what. _He should get his roof fixed and not listen to shady plumbers_ , you growl to yourself. Sway parks in front of you with his long hands balled up into fists on his cocked hips.

“Are you outta your goddamn mind? ‘Cause I like crazy ‘n all, but you’re pushin’ it halfway ‘cross the country at this point.”

You try and fight the smile and subsequent laugh from tumbling out of you. Sway just never was very good at being angry. You think you see his lips twitch too and you know you’re both lost.

“Ya know, standing like that, you kinda look like M.”

Sway’s jaw drops and you think you hear sputtering at the table where the skeleton brothers sit. His hands rub down his shirt as he finally laughs, face smoothing and relaxing. You step close and rise to your tiptoes to rest your hands on either side of his face.

“Sorry I worried you. ‘M not gonna do it again. Promise. But stop listening to skeletons. Nothin’ but trouble,” you smirk. He barks out another laugh and nods. He looks off and holds out his hand, pinky finger extended. You wrap your own around his, tugging tightly. A bright smile melts his features. You let go and jump up to land a soft kiss to his forehead. Now a deep, rolling laughter spills from him and he hooks an arm around your neck, hugging you close.

“So ya really think I look like M? ‘Cause he is _fine_ , lemme tell you,” Sway chuckles, leading you over to the table where Sans and Papyrus are watching, amused.

You lean in conspiratorially, whispering, “Don’t let M hear, but I think you look a helluva lot hotter than he does.”

Sway slumps back as he walks, his head rolling and an ecstatic grin on his face. He lets loose a loud, “HOOO boy, you know just how to get this heart pumpin’, chickadee.” He straightens and leans in to grab your chin softly, tipping your head back and fluttering his eyes at you. Making a show for Sans you realize with mirth. “Sorry, Sansy, think I’m gonna have to steal this one from ya.”

Papyrus snickers and Sans chuckles and the warm sound sends your heart to race. “never was good at sharin’.”

“No you were not,” Papyrus agrees with a cackling laugh. Sans only laughs deeper at this point. He pulls out a chair next to him and you take it when Sway lets you go. He sits on your other side, between you and Papyrus. Sans grins at you, arm snaking around your shoulders.

“how ‘bout one for the skeleton?” he teases, desire in his white-hot eye-lights. You feel it in yourself too. Especially after those dreams….

“’Spose I can do that,” you say, smirking. You bend towards him and his arm draws you close. Your lips press tender against his toothy mouth and you both hear and feel him groan so softly. His fingers stray through your hair, scratching your scalp lightly enough to send chills down your spine. Such a quick kiss, but it felt like decades and you wouldn’t be upset if it chugged along the railway to Forever.

You sit back and share a dazed smile. His hand squeezes your shoulder and you respond by crossing your legs, partially covering his own. Smiles grow wider and he takes a sly sip of his coffee.

“So you tellin’ lies outta school?” you ask Sans, tilting your head to Sway.

He laughs into his mug. “ain’t a lie if it’s the truth.” You just roll your eyes and listen to the conversations around you. Your foot bobs, catching Sans’ legs every once in a while. Every time you do, his fingers twitch just like his smile. You can’t wait to see what else you can do to him.

“Should we go see W.D. now, brother?” Papyrus asks.

Your attention is grabbed and you look over to Sans with a question in your eyes. He meets them and shifts, pushing back the opening of his jacket to reveal his hip. Resting there with undeniably wicked purpose is the Barber’s knife. You feel like the knife is no longer tucked securely in Sans’ belt, but at home, deep in your heart, _where it always will be_ , it promises cruelly in a sick whisper. Your breath leaves your lungs in a rush.

“Shoot,” Sway breathes, “Some shiv….”

You chew the inside of your cheek, nodding, hardly looking away from the long, curved steel. Sans’ hand breaks your spiraling concentration, fingers gripping your chin to look up at him. His thumb drifts across your lips as he smiles.

“see ya later, sweetheart.”

“Alright,” you mutter, losing yourself in the way your lips tug against the bone of his thumb. He bends, kissing you briefly. Damn, it never feels enough. He stands and waves for Papyrus, walking to exit the parlor.

Papyrus shouts, “Bye humans!” and takes off after Sans.

“You are in trouble, chickadee,” Sway chuckles, propping his lanky legs up on the table and tilting back in his chair, the picture of ease and tease.

You’re still partly engrossed in the wave of emotions currently drowning you. All you can manage is a “Huh?”

He places a hand on his bouncing flat stomach as he laughs. “You got it bad. All lovey-dovey ‘n shit. Have you even gotten lucky yet?”

You stick your tongue out, retorting, “Depends whatcha mean by lucky.” He only looks at you with a dry, sarcastic look that says he believes none of your shit.

You laugh, red rising to your cheeks. “No, not yet.” You cough. “Waiting for his back to heal.”

Sway examines his nails nonchalantly. “Well I overheard he’s better. Practically a hundred-percent.” He points to you now, devilish smile twisting his lips. “I’m gonna make sure ya have a skeleton in your bed tonight if it kills me.”

You laugh into your hands, covering your face. “Well…guess I have no choice. Hate to see you kick the bucket.” Sway only laughs, ruffling up your hair.

~~~~~~~~~

Sans and Papyrus step into W.D.’s office. Undyne is already there, lounging in the leather chair in front of his desk, long legs crossed and flaming hair in a high horsetail.

“They’ve been pretty tight-lipped so far.”

**“Well, _loosen them_ ,” **W.D. says with an angry wave of his hand.

“If you got a better way than beating them senseless, then please, _enlighten_ me, boss,” Undyne snaps.  

W.D.’s attention whips to the skeleton brothers now. **“Are you healed?”**

Sans shrugs, frowning and sharing a short glance with Papyrus. “more or less.”

**“Good. You’ll work with Undyne on the men,”** he says, writing down some more notes.

_Fucking great_ , he sighs as he walks over to W.D.’s desk. He reaches and pulls out the knife, laying it on the wood with a muted clatter. W.D. stares long and hard at it, before looking up at Sans’ pupils. He just raises a waiting brow. His spider-like, bleached hands pick up the blade, bringing it in front of his face. It rotates, gleaming, teeming with hidden secrets and promises that W.D. is _very_ interested in discovering. His mind skips and tips, alive with questions and replete with answers.

**“The Barber’s?”** W.D. asks, his skittering voice humming with curiosity.

“yep. nearly took my skull with it,” Sans says, mouth curling.

“Alive, thanks to me!” Undyne laughs and Papyrus claps a hand to her shoulder. Sans shoots her a grateful smile.

“got an idea what it says?”

**“J.A.T. Initials, I’m sure. His, no doubt. Jimmy; James, perhaps. Safe to assume his last name is the same as the Tartaglias. They don’t let just anyone run their organizations.”** He flips over the dagger to the other side, aged and eager pupils scanning the burned letters there. He mutters, **“Cui cerca, trova. Cui sècuta, vinci. Who seeks, finds; who perseveres, wins. Humble, isn’t he?”**

Sans rubs his jaw, pacing around the office now. He’s far from the Barber’s biggest fan, but this only serves to dislike him even more. He’s got nerve alright. And a misplaced code of values that Sans would personally like to rearrange for him. The Barber’s made it clear he’ll do what it takes to get what he wants. “think we can expect retaliation now that we got his men?”

**“Until we have that goddamn traitor, I think we should expect anything.”**

Sans huffs. It’s not every day W.D. curses. This must really be eating at him. They better find this guy before anything big happens. That means getting as much information out of the captured gangsters they can. But that can wait, the thought causing a smirk to lift his frown. He has someone he’d like to take care of himself tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**_Schink…_ **

**_Schink…_ **

**_Schink…_ **

**_Scrapescrapescrape…._ **

“Think it’s time?”

Clicking and tapping.

“Dunno. Maybe. What do _you_ think Lukas?”

“I think…you’re gonna do vatever you’d like to do.”

A dark bark of laughter.

“Yeah, guess I could. I _would_ like to get my men back, too.”

“I think you might lose the opportunity if you vait too long.”

**_Ffffffffffpppt…THUNK._ **

“Think so?”

A hum of assent.

“But you’re the boss.”

“Guess I am.”

“How are you going to do it, if I may ask?”

Silence. Then a chuckle.

“Was always a fan of surprises myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda gettin' back into the swing of things. Some fun stuff is comin' up and I'm SO EXCITED for you guys to read it. 
> 
> You da real mvps <3
> 
> Come have a drink with your Mob Boss Host: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	31. Cheek to Cheek

“How does it feel to be back in business!”

You wipe the sweat from your brow and lean against Sway’s wiry body. His arm rests on your shoulder as he does the same. You both stare up at the grinning and dazzling form of M. You gotta admit, he looks like a million bucks in his brilliant midnight purple and silver pantsuit.

“Pretty good,” you agree with a tired smile. Sway gives a thumbs up.

“Well you all are killing it out there, keep it up my darlings,” M croons, giving you both pats on the cheek. “If you need me, I’ll be around. Just shout.” He winks from behind his long lashes.

“Look for tall, dark, and handsome, got it,” you say with an appeasing grin. M flutters like a leaf in a strong, hot breeze.

That is until Sway says, laughing, “But I’m right here, chickadee.”

You bark out a laugh and M titters, waving you both off. “Incorrigible. How about look for your knight in shining armor!” he calls. Sway falls over you and you laugh, catching and desperately straining to hold his long, lanky body up.

He lays a hand over his face, shouting in a high voice, “Oh M! I’m a damsel, I’m in distress, could use some _suh-weet_ savin’ over here!”

“Don’t tempt me!” M yells back, strutting away.

You’re captured by giggles and let Sway go with a yelp from him. He lands right on his ass, glowering good-naturedly up at you. You bend over him and blow a kiss. He laughs, scrambling to his feet in one swift motion, throwing you over his shoulder as he goes. You let loose a short cry of partial fear and mirth. Oh lord in heaven, you are up high right now.

“SWAY! You are tall as hell, jesus!” He just laughs, bouncing under you. “You should definitely put me down though,” you plead, patting his back.

“Alright,” he says and his arm loosens. You see the floor coming up much faster than you hoped and you cling to him for dear life.

“OKOKNEVERMIND!” He catches you with a rasping cackle, hoisting you back up.

“Didn’t think so, chickadee.”

You huff, “Whatever, beanpole.” He walks from backstage and out into the parlor. You shift up to peer around the crowded room. Your face falls, not spotting Tony. You thought he’d be here tonight, what with M’s being reopened for business. You find that you really miss him; his kind smile and carefree humor. You’d gotten so used to him just _being_ there. You wonder if you’ll be able to go back out and get gelato with him sometime. You hope so at least.

But then you see Sans and your spirits lift higher than your place on Sway’s shoulder. He’s sitting with Papyrus at a table close to the dance floor. Sway swaggers up and plants himself in front of the stocky skeleton. His pupils light up in amusement and something else as they gaze up at you. Something that lights _you_ up. Boy…he looks handsome tonight. Jet black three-piece suit sitting atop a blue shirt that clashes just beautifully with his milk-white bones. A hat tops it all off. It takes a moment for you to realize you’ve just been staring with your mouth open like a mook and you immediately close it.

Sans’ subsequent grin is broad and eager.

“I believe you have a package, sir,” Sway salutes.

“don’t remember orderin’ anythin’,” Sans with a coy smile. “do you remember, paps?”

“Nope,” Papyrus cackles.

“Welp, guess you’re not wanted, chickadee,” Sway says with a shrug, jostling you.

You laugh, “Guess not.”

Sans holds up his hands, grinning to high heaven and leaning forward. “now hold your horses. think i’ll take ‘em off your hands for ya.” You and Sway laugh as he drops you down into a chair next to Sans.

“Gotta get back. I’ll see ya later,” he winks.

“See ya, Sway,” you say, but lean forward and slap him right on his ass as he walks away. He jumps, but bursts into laughter. He points at you.

“Better keep an eye on that one, Sansy!”

“good thing i have two to spare,” he quips back, tipping his hat and winking at you. You just laugh and wave your bye to Sway. He hops back on stage, plopping right onto the piano bench. Sans grabs your hand as you drop it, bringing it up to his mouth as he catches your eyes. He places a buzzing and smolderingly slow kiss to your knuckles. Your blush, on the other hand, burns bright and fast on your cheeks.

“What a gentleman,” you manage to get out.

“ya know me, sweetheart,” he mutters.

One of the many waitresses stops by and drops off a round of drinks, weaving in and out of the crowds smoothly. You smile as you watch Sway get into the background music he and the band are providing. God, does he love his music. And boy, is he damn good at it. His ability to improvise is amazing; something you’ve never seen before. He’s the piano player every band and singer dreams for. He makes you feel so comfortable when performing because he’s so completely solid. You see his hands fly, ending the song with a flourish. He sure does have fun doing it too. Big Johnny starts up the next song, low and slow. Couples make their way to the dance floor, swaying and laughing and some even necking.

Sans’ fingers tap his glass, debate in their very movement. He watches the dance floor with you. You look content, sipping your drink, enjoying the atmosphere and the people. He starts to lean forward, when Undyne comes up to him and Papyrus. He groans internally.

You look up and wave at Undyne, who just showed up. “Hey Undyne!”

“Heya. Gotta steal these boneheads for a minute.”

“Be my guest,” you say, winking at the brothers. They grin at you before getting up from the table. You turn back to the floor with excited eyes. You feel someone come up behind you. You twist in your seat to see who it might be.

It’s Tony.

A genuine smile splits your face as you spot him sidling through the crowds, making sure not to jostle anyone. He flashes a grin your way as he comes up, those hazel eyes livening up. You extend your arm and he bends to give you a hug, tight and warm. You smell his distinct spice and smoke scent as you rub his broad back. Your smile only broadens. You're glad he showed up.

“Hey there, ___. Sorry I’m late.”

You shrug, smiling. “It’s jake. You didn’t miss much, other than all of it.” He laughs, rubbing the dark stubble on his cheek.

“How’s about I make it up to ya?”

You tilt your head, curious. “How so?”

He holds out his hand, inclining his head with a grin and raised eyebrow. “May I ask the lovely lady to dance?” A shocked laugh slips out of your mouth. But excitement quickly takes over the surprise as it fills you, your love of dancing spurring you forward.

“Well I dunno about ‘lovely,’ but sure, you can ask the lady to dance,” you tease as you take his warm, rough hand. He leads you out onto the dance floor with a practiced ease, placing his other hand on the small of your back. You’re close, but not so much that it’d make you uncomfortable.

“You’re right,” he says with feigned seriousness, before smirking down at you, “‘lovely,’ is an understatement.” You roll your eyes as he moves you around the floor. He’s pretty good, obviously having danced before.

“You’re a terrible flirt, Tony.”

He barks out a deep laugh, hand splaying across your back, pressing softly, sliding. “I dunno, I thought I was firin’ on all sixes.”

“Nope, you need to trade in that old jalopy for somethin’ more…sporty.”

His chuckles roll past his smiling lips. He winks at you as he spins you around. Your hand grips his muscled shoulder as your heart sings from the feeling of moving. “I have just the one.”

Your eyes look up at his dancing, tawny-green ones. “Oh yeah?”

His chuckles get deeper and more frequent, making you smile. “Mhmm. I’m thinkin’ a struggle buggy,” he spurts out in his laughter.

A peal of laughter tumbles from your lips as well, mouth open in shock. You punch his shoulder playfully. “What a line!” He grins, still laughing, hazel eyes molten catching as he dips you at the end of the song. He lifts you back up, drawing you close. Close enough to be swept away by that heady scent. Smiling, you say, “You’re still a terrible flirt. But thanks for the dance.” He lets you go reluctantly, but with a hopeful look on his handsome face.

“No problem. Unless you'd like another go? Give me my sin again, perhaps?” he offers, lips quirking. 

“actually, i’ll take this one.”

You whip around to find Sans standing casually next to you, hands tucked in his pockets. Your eyes glance up, catching his relaxed smile, but the lights of his eyes are focused underneath his hat. Tony looks surprised for a moment, before shrugging congenially and giving you a wave and slight bow as he walks off. Sans watches him go. You miss the flash of annoyance glinting in his hazel eyes. The next song starts up and Sans takes your hand, bones wrapping firmly around your fingers. His arm snakes around your waist, pressing you flush against his dense body. Shivers track down your spine when his thumb rubs along it. Your heart races and warms, firing you up. He looks down at you, a bonafide smile lighting up those…unbelievably luminous lights in his sockets. You grin up at him.

“Everything peachy?”

“now it is,” he murmurs as you both move across the floor.

You lean in closer, hand sliding around to the back of his shoulder. You whisper, “Are the New Tartaglias you captured still giving you guys trouble?”

His hat brushes your hair as he talks into your ear. “some, but they’ve been pretty quiet. gonna be workin’ with undyne on some of ‘em tomorrow.” Your fingers squeeze his in your surprise. You’re quiet for a moment.

“Glad nothing else has happened.”

His hand massages your back as he rumbles, “yeah. me too.” He chuckles though. “else i wouldn’t be able to do this.” He spins you out and pulls you back in, settling the side of his face against yours. The feeling is thrilling. You laugh, your body shaking from joy and adrenaline. Your laughs die down as you think about what he said, about how dangerous it is, not just for you, but for him as well.

“Sans.”

“hmmm?” He grunts softly, swaying.

Your hand drifts over where you know his crack to be. “Just…please be careful, ok?” His hold tightens on you. Your cheeks lift in a faint smile. “I can’t bother you if you get killed.” He lets out a deep chuckle, but turns his face into yours as if he could merge them. He gets a strong sense of satisfaction from your admission. He agrees with you, though. He’d hate not being around. For his brother. For you. He’ll take your plea to heart, like you have his. Because he’d hate to lose you too.

He mutters, “don’t worry. haven’t even exhausted all my jokes yet.” You laugh quietly, both enjoying holding the other, the proximity and pine scent as intoxicating as a well-aged whiskey. You'd never drink again if you could do this instead. Your eyes meet Sway’s over Sans’ shoulder and he gives you an enthusiastic thumbs up. You stick your tongue out at him, albeit with a smile. He ends the song, trailing up the piano, keys tinkling in the high register. Sway shoots you a finger gun and whoops, kicking the next song into high gear. The crowd around you hoots and hollers and you pull back to grin at Sans, grabbing the front of his jacket.

“Do you know the Charleston?”

He chuckles. “heard it’s a skele-ton o’ fun.” You laugh uproariously and grab his hand.

“I hope your dancing is better than your jokes.” He laughs and follows you, pupils alive and gleaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WEEOOO tags and rating will change next chapter! *waggles eyebrows* WINK WONK
> 
> Next chapter'll be a bit longer to make up. Been moving and haven't had a ton of time to write this week. I'm sure ya won't have any qualms once you read it xD (maybe...fingers crossed)
> 
> Stay swell, luv ya duckies <3
> 
> Come have a drink with your Mob Boss Host: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	32. I'm in the Mood for Love*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Warning for explicit content! Tags and ratings will change!*** 
> 
> COME ONE, COME ALL
> 
> Hurry, hurry, here's your chance! See the mystery and romance!
> 
> ....
> 
> Nah, it's just fuckin'.
> 
> (but maybe those other things too)

You’re doubled over, wheezing in laughter from dancing with Sans. The song had just ended but his jokes haven’t. You’re out of breath as you wipe the tears from your eyes. He’s laughing with you, eye-lights bright in mirth. When you straighten, he takes off his hat and wipes the sweat from his skull with his sleeve and places the hat on your head. You grin up at him from under the brim.

“looks better on you than me.”

You cock your hip as you pose. “It’s true, my sense of style is way _ahead_ of yours.”

Sans’ grin gets even wider and he barks out a laugh as his eyes flash. He clutches the front of his vest and shakes his head. “a gal after my own heart.”

You place your first finger on his sternum as you smirk. “You gotta heart underneath all them bones?”

He takes a deep breath and his hand comes up to grasp your hand, fingers gentle around yours. “ya wanna find out?”

Your eyes widen and your lips part in a surprised smile, a heated blush coloring your cheeks. You’re trying to find something witty for a comeback, but as you stare at him, you find yourself getting lost in his intense gaze, losing all train of thought. They’ve gone way off the rails…. And then it’s broken, back on track, when Big Johnny yells at you from atop the stage. Sans drops his gaze and hand from yours reluctantly as you both turn to him. He’s grinning from ear to ear, teeth and eyes glinting in the stage-light, loving that he’s caught you two.

“Ya comin’ to the party?” Your mouth opens as you glance to Sans.

“Actually!” Sway jumps up, cutting you off and looping an arm around Big Johnny’s neck, practically tackling him. “They got stuff to do tonight, can’t make it, it’s a shame really, we totally understand,” he chatters, a smile barely held behind bars on his face. Big Johnny roars a laugh, slapping his knee.

“Oh, of course, I gotta take this one to task on a drinking game anyhow,” he smirks, jerking a thumb to Sway. Sway’s face falls in despair.

“Well, uh—” he starts.

It morphs into a glare when you say, “Yes! He’s been chompin’ at the bit to take you on again.” Big Johnny laughs and hooks a thick arm around Sway’s neck, hugging him tight to his side and dispelling any thoughts of escape. Which are rabid and bright in Sway’s dark eyes. He shakes his head at you, mouthing, _Gonna get you back._

You mouth right back, _Love you too_.

“Now go on! Git!” Sway shoos with a wide wave of his arms as he’s dragged off by Big Johnny.

“Have fun you two,” the large trombonist yells over his shoulder.

You laugh, waving in return. You’ll have to pay back Sway somehow. You turn to Sans. With the way he’s looking at you, you decide it’s gonna have to be something _really_ big. He steps close and places a hand on the small of your back. It zings up your spine, lighting up your smile.

“wanna get outta here?” he asks.

“Lead the way,” you respond, want and need in every word. He rumbles and ushers you away.

“you guys good?” he asks Papyrus and Undyne as you pass.

Undyne throws a thumbs up as she drains the last of her drink. Papyrus waves, winking audibly. “Do not worry! Things are taken care of here.” Sans nods, clapping a hand to Papyrus’ shoulder. And then you’re walking together across the room, squeezing in between groups of rowdy and drunk people. It feels like the longest walk of your life, just because you’re so incredibly aware of the hand that hasn’t left your back this whole time. Sans opens the door for you and you step through with a nod and smile.

But as soon as the door closes, you’re in his arms and he in yours.

“get ready,” he mutters roughly against your lips. You hug him tighter and close your eyes, feeling the flames of his eye lick your face much in the same way his tongue is paying attention to your lips.

And then you fall.

You open your eyes, noticing you’re in Sans’ room, but gasping at the sheer amount of emotions flooding through you. The stomach-turning thrill of falling, the solid pressure of Sans’ mouth on your lips, the way his hands caress your body like it’s water to a dying man. You've craved this for so long. It’s so much.

But you want more.

Your mouth and tongue explore his. He tips your head back, exposing your neck to his mouth now. He attacks it hungrily, nipping and licking and you can’t help the groan that tumbles from you. The heat builds in your pelvis, straining for release and proximity. Need to be closer. Have to be. There’s nothing else. Your mind and skin flash with desire. Sans is consistently rumbling and humming now, vibrating from his own lust and eagerness. He pushes you, backing you up into his bookshelf. It jostles but neither of you quite care enough. His hand braces you both, grasping the wooden shelf, creaking underneath his claw-like grip. Your hands slide down his chest as you breathe raggedly. They shove underneath his jacket, slipping it from his shoulders. You make quick work of the buttons of his vest and he shrugs that off as well, all of it forgotten as he takes your mouth once more. His tongue darts in, tasting you, feeling you. You do the same to his, feeling the bones and canines prick and pull at your tongue and lips. His hands disappear for the briefest of times to rid the buttons of his shirt from their mooring and the shirt from his torso. His bare chest, those dense, thick bones press up against your own chest and you pant, fingers splaying along them, trying to feel as much as you can. He groans on top of you, arms sliding around you. They take care of your zipper swiftly. He steps back into the middle of the room, dragging you with him. His hands do much like yours did, dipping between the unwanted fabric. They stroke your bare back all the way from your shoulders to your hips, forcing the dress off as he goes. It sheds from your frame, dropping to lie around your ankles. You step out of it and your shoes and Sans disengages for a moment to look at you. To truly gaze at you.

His eye lights _you_ on fire.

“fucking gorgeous,” he breathes, awestruck.

You laugh, out of breath yourself. A flush rises to your cheeks and you feel it on the rest of your naked body. Your nipples perk up in the chill of the room, at odds with your burning skin.

“Pretty damn handsome yourself,” you chuckle. He laughs, low and gravelly when he returns to you. His hands lay on your hips, drifting upwards, purposefully skirting your chest. The feeling of his bones over your bare skin is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. It’s intoxicating; it’s rough and fascinating. It’s something you’d want again and again like a drug that just won’t quit. His hands go higher. Up to your neck, to your face, drifting into your hair. All the while that flashing eye devours you. He kisses you softer now, taking his time. Savoring every second that his mouth is on yours. He starts walking backward and you follow, a willing and loving participant. Then he twists and eases you onto his bed. The covers are cool, made colder, sharper as they touch your heated body until it thaws, warming up with you and Sans. His mouth trails down to your throat, kissing and biting slowly. His hands move back down to your chest and you groan, shifting against him.

“Wow,” you whisper, closing your eyes.

He chuckles deeply. “haven’t seen nothin’ yet, sweetheart.” He emphasizes his point with a lick.

“Enlighten me then,” you tease, gripping his shoulder-blades. He laughs more now, rumbling above you. When you hear his pants unbuckling and slipping off, your heart skyrockets, you desire builds, entering levels you haven’t felt in a long time. Your legs wrap around his hip bones, calves digging in for purchase, and now it’s his turn to groan, crawling onto the bed and over you. He’s still kissing your throat. It’s harder now though. Insistent. You smile, tilting your head back into the covers, exposing more of your throat. He accepts it with gusto.

“i’ve waited a long time for this—for you…,” he says, his voice a gravelly murmur on your skin.

Your chest swells. A kind of pressure that crushes and steals all at once, as if your body is shocked to find an accepting abyss in the presence of _so much_. Your hands slide up his chest to lace themselves over his shoulders and behind his back. You feel the thrum of his magic, the liveliness of his bones, a life that stimulates your own. You’re no stranger to flirtation; you know that game and how it’s played. You think you play it pretty well yourself, and it’s sure as hell fun to play with Sans. But this is more. It’s been more for a long time you feel like. That’s why you say, “Me too.”

“yeah?” he asks, flexing his bones underneath your kind touch.

“Yeah. Told you before you were special to me, Sans,” you whisper back into the dark quiet of his bedroom.

Sans’ magic courses in a frenzied rush. Feeling your wonderful, naked body quake and strengthen beneath his own, seeing the delight and _desire_ in your eyes, hearing the unsteady breaths that he knows he’s caused to be shaken and stolen from you forces his hand. He had planned on taking as much time as he could. As soon as your dress came off, he wanted to show you _everything_ he could do for you. No. Since you agreed to come with him tonight; as soon as you were in his arms. He wanted to show you all of the ins and outs and hidden pathways to pleasure. But he doesn’t think he can wait anymore. His magic and his soul won’t allow it. They’ve put a gun to his head, cocked the hammer, waiting for him to make his move. They want you; _he_ wants you.

He can show you more later he thinks in lustful elation.

A small tremor rocks through Sans for a moment after you say your soft admission. You have no doubts he feels the same as you do. What comes next is solid testament to that fact. You feel the promising heat of his eye grow on your skin, then a hard, _very_ familiar shape manifest along your lower abdomen. It lays hot and heavy on your sex, and it steeps your entire body in anticipation and longing. Sans’ pelvis twitches, as greedy as the kisses he’s placing on your mouth. Neither of you need to say anything else. You both know what comes next. You both know what you want.

Each other.

And with one small tilt of both of your hips, he slips in. He hisses and your moan bottoms out. His right arm slides underneath your waist, tilting your hips upward for more leverage and an angle that allows him to stroke into you deeply. His left braces his solid body above you, finding a home by your head, fingers tangling in your delightfully messy hair. Sans thrusts long and slow at first, feeling you, experiencing you, stretching you wide with his cock. Your breath leaves you after every one, your groans becoming louder as his pace increases. He’s relentless. Bringing you up and then tearing you right back down to your core.

At one point, he pounds into you in quick succession, rough and impatient, but then pushes and holds with a breathless growl. It causes you to pant, a deep moan splitting you apart. “Sans! Oh—oh my _god_ ….” He keeps still, loving your reaction, loving how your muscles clench around him, loving how he makes your body twist in uncontrollable need even though his aches to do the same. “Please, _please_ …move!” you beg. You would normally be appalled you’d begged for anything, but you just do not _care_.

He chuckles and licks your lips. “say my name again, sweetheart,” he teases.

You force a smile and roll your head back into the covers. “ _Sans_ ,” you sigh.

He growls and thrusts again, incensed now, and his skull bends, his sharp teeth easing around your shoulder muscle. Any remaining breath leaves you in a swift, ecstatic exhale. Your hands hook around his thick ribs, holding on. “Do it,” you mutter. His thrusts falter for a second and a questioning noise bounces around his chest. “Bite me, Sans,” you say, louder, desperate. You _need_ him. He growls and obeys. His canines stick firmly along your skin, testing how much you can take and how much he’s able and willing to give. Your moan builds and you squeeze him to your body, meeting every one of his quickening thrusts. You’re so close, you can feel the wall, can feel both of you chipping away at it with every motion, with every breath, with every groan.

“Shit—I’m s-so close, Sans,” you gasp, shutting your eyes against the wonderful overabundance of stimulation.

“let go with me, ___,” he rasps, voice deepening with the effort of holding back. You moan your assent. He starts moving faster, grunting and gasping together. Until finally, you feel a shudder travel from your head to your toes, curling them, tightening your legs and sending a fire raging through you as you orgasm. Your moan is loud and long now and Sans thrusts harder, digging wide strokes that touch that secret spot inside you sensitive enough to make you come undone even further. His fingers clasp your hair; his other hand gripping your waist like a vice. He drives into you once—twice—three more times until he growls, straining and shaking on top of you. His teeth clamp down and he clings to you, his tongue darting out to lick the mark he made as he climaxes. He buries himself in you, staying put, both of you constricting around the other, feeling the waves of pleasure pass through. Relishing that incredibly intimate moment of shared bliss. A moment you both had been craving for much too long.

His hand relaxes on your head, smoothing the damp hair that lays there. His other lets you go, dragging up your sweaty, flushed body to cup your cheek. His thumb caresses and tugs at your tired, smiling lips before kissing them tenderly. Your own hands react in a similar fashion; moving to cradle his face between them as you kiss each other madly, but with a slow, smoldering passion that sings a smooth ballad of content and yearning.

When you part, you murmur, “That was….”

“amazing?” he finishes, dazed and happy.

You chuckle and say, razzing, “Well I was gonna say alright.” He laughs at that, biting your lips. “But amazing works too,” you concede sincerely, kissing him once more. He responds emphatically, his intense movements lighting you up again.

“how ‘bout i show ya around now?” he asks as he kisses lower and lower. You giggle, your body contorting underneath him, encircling and being encircled by him.

“It would be my pleasure,” you say, grinning.

“you bet it will.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hazel eyes search the crowded parlor. A steady hand rubs a black, thickly stubbled chin. He doesn’t see the skeleton anywhere. At least, not the short one. _Sans_. Which is…good. But he doesn’t see you either. His jaw clenches. He weaves between the throngs of people, heading over to the tall skeleton and fish monster. He doesn’t know their names. He doesn’t really have to. He strides up, confident and amiable, clapping the large skeleton on the shoulder. He starts and looks up at the grinning man.

“The name’s Tony,” he says, holding out a calloused hand. The skeleton beams excitedly and shakes his hand with an enthusiasm Tony notices is totally absent on Sans. He likes this one so far. Relatively speaking that is.

“I am Papyrus! It is nice to meet you! You are one of ___’s friends, are you not?” Papyrus asks.

“I am,” Tony says, laughing, finding himself enjoying the skeleton’s raspy, but friendly manner. “And that’s what I was gonna ask about. Seen ‘em anywhere?”

Papyrus is about to say something, his eyes as wide as his mouth, but the fish monster interrupts him. “They’re indisposed,” she hedges. Tony knows subversion when he sees it. He smiles and extends his hand to her now.

“Tony,” he says.

“Undyne,” she responds, grasping and shaking his hand with a grip that makes him chuckle and his knuckles tighten.

“So they’ve run off again, huh?” he asks congenially, testing the waters.

“Yes! With Sans!” Papyrus chirps. Undyne hits him and he groans, glaring at her and rubbing his shoulder.

“They’re indisposed,” she repeats, offering nothing else as she takes another swig of her drink.

“Alright, thanks, you two. Nice meetin’ ya,” he says with a wave and a smile. Undyne throws him one and Papyrus waves back happily.

Tony steps away and through the parlor again. Walking, shoes scuffing the worn carpet until he exits into the stiff, warm night air and screaming sounds of the city. They’re desperate to try and drown out his thoughts. No such luck though, because they’re crystal clear, sharp as a knife. Tony’s not surprised by much. He thinks he’d feel some kind of anger. He takes a deep breath and starts down the street. Maybe he’s too used to taking action. To him, anger comes from the lack of it; from the frustration of not getting your way. Jealousy is there, sure. It’s never very far when he sees you with him. It’s present in any instance where the one you care for is with someone else. But he’s surprised he doesn’t feel angry. On the contrary.

All he feels is determination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed. Took long enough right?
> 
> <3
> 
> Come have a drink with your Mob Boss Host : ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	33. That Old Feeling*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***A bit more fun stuff at the beginning, SO BEWARE***

Your tired eyes open, blearily accepting the golden morning light that’s filtering in through Sans’ curtains. They adjust, taking in with satisfaction the strewn clothes and bedding occupying his room. Sans is on his back and you’re draped halfway over him, legs tangled, arms holding each other tight even in sleep. You wipe the drool from your face with a grimace. You feel like you haven’t gotten such a good night’s sleep before. Your body also feels like it hasn’t gotten such a decent workout either. You’re sore in the most wonderful places, muscles sluggish from the taxing fun had last night. You think you put Sans through the ringer too, if his snoring is any indication. It makes you smile and your chest swell. A foreign, yet tantalizingly familiar feeling steals a secret, back-alley way into your heart. And…even deeper it seems. It’s familiar because you experience it every time Sans is near you, touches you, says your name. It’s so recognizable, it’s almost ordinary. Yet it’s anything but. It’s a contentment that coaxes you back into sleep and further into Sans’ embrace. Your smile breaks into a wide grin when he turns in his sleep and wraps around you securely in response.

A while later, it’s Sans’ turn. His sockets open and he can hardly even believe. The feeling of your naked body on his bare bones is enough to shock him into ecstatic acceptance. He feels heavy and light all at once. Being with you last night was something he wants to experience again and again and he’s sure it would never get old. You really were incredible. Beautiful, fun, fiery. And kind. An attentiveness that’s hard won in this town. But you give it, and with such an open heart to him. He feels…lucky. As lucky as a guy can be here. Like he could stride into a joint right now, take on the house for all the gold in the till, and _win._ He won’t make you regret it. His hand drifts upward to push your hair back from your face and cup your cheek.

When you open your eyes to meet his, he realizes he got his wish.

You smile as you look at Sans. He’s gazing at you with those soft white eye-lights and they send a swift bullet of heat through you, enough to warm you up and make you aware of your proximity to him. Definitely enough to hold him tighter. He mirrors it with a chuckle.

“Morning,” you say, voice low and rough from sleep.

“mornin’, sweetheart,” he mutters. And then he kisses you, tender, sweet, and clean; that pine scent sweeping you away into memories of last night; all tangled limbs and hot, quickening breaths. Your lips press to his mouth, tugged by coarse bone. It’ll never not be thrilling. Your fingers slide over his ribs, feeling the varied pockets and divots, the smooth and rugged areas that litter them. You love every one of them. A weak groan sits in his chest as you do so. When you separate, his pupils are brighter. Burning. Needing.

His hands drag up your back like claws, digging into the flesh. Enjoying the difference in texture and the ever-present warmth of your skin. They rise, cupping your face, urging you up and onto his body. You react readily, willingly, enthusiastically. His broad, dense bones press into your thighs and hot sex, forcing the breath from your lungs and heating up your lower abdomen. His tongue snakes out, tasting yours, feeling your teeth and mouth. Almost pretending like he didn’t explore to his heart’s content last night. You don’t complain, because you’re doing the same to him.

Your hand slips in between your bodies, hunting, stroking his thick ribs and sternum until you slide down more. Your fingers latch onto his spine and he jerks beneath you.

“ _fuck_ , ___....,” he moans.

“You like that?” you whisper, your hot breath drifting over his mouth.

“hell yes i do,” he growls, writhing as your grip becomes stronger, twisting and rubbing his vertebrae harder and harder. More insistent with every roll of your wrist. His own hands seem to be everywhere at once, drifting and erratic from his slipping control. Then they finally catch onto the wrought iron headboard, the bars groaning just as loud as Sans. Between every moan is a hitched pant, a gasp that pierces you, taking your own breath with it. And it only escalates.

“sh—shit,” he half-laughs, biting back a grinding groan followed by a tingling shudder when you press down with both your hands and your hips. “i’m g-gonna rock your fuckin’ world tonight, sweetheart….”

“I look forward to it,” you say and then kiss him, rough and wanting. You pick up the pace and he’s unable to talk anymore, far past coherence. Good. You want him there. He bucks underneath you with a few more strokes, and then a forceful, trembling wave travels through him, rattling his bones and his mind.

“ _oh fuck_!” he cries through gritted teeth. You smile in pleasure, feeling powerful and sexy and absolutely enthralled at how you can make him come undone, ruin him with your love and desire like you both know he does you. He finally relaxes, melting, his hands unfastening from the metal above both your heads. They drop like lead, finding a new home around your body. He kisses you deeply, humming softly against you. “that was…incredible,” he murmurs to your lips.

“Glad you enjoyed it,” you whisper, placing small kisses on his mouth. He chuckles and holds you tighter.

“let’s get some coffee, sweetheart,” he finally says. You chuckle and several long kisses later you both finally get up from bed, stretching your pleasantly exhausted bodies. You catch Sans watching you dress and he grins, stepping over. His hand strokes your jaw then your neck, down to your shoulder. His bony fingers gently prod the dark, pleasurable marks his teeth made when he bit you last night. He doesn’t quite know why, but he gets this strange satisfaction from it. Maybe because it reminds him of what happened. Maybe because it reminds both of you that you asked, had wanted him to do it and then he obliged with hot eagerness. He made those marks and, from the way your eyes are lighting up with such fire, you wear them proudly. It’s a possessiveness that not only marks you, but him as well. He is yours as unmistakably as you are his. Partners. “beautiful,” he says. You lay a hand on his bare sternum, a giddy feeling zipping through you.

“I had a great time last night,” you say. His pleased grin becomes even wider at your admission. His arms encircle you, his fingers deftly and slowly drawing up your zipper.

“we can have a great time every night,” he promises hotly, his pupils flashing.

“I’ll hold you to that, Sansy. And to me,” you tease with a bite of your lip. He chuckles, pinching your ass as he gets dressed. You’re a little sad his wonderful bones are being covered up but you reassure yourself that there’s plenty of time for that later. That thought forces you forward, making you press your lips to his waiting mouth one more time. He kisses you back with vigor, arms lacing around you and tipping you. You laugh against his mouth and take it for your own passionately. You part again and usher yourselves out of his room and the apartment with bright smiles.

You and Sans walk into the parlor, your hands wrapped around his arm. You catch Sway immediately pick you out from where he stands with Papyrus. He fists his hands on his cocked hips and flashes you the widest and happiest smile you’ve seen yet. But his gleaming dark eyes scream that he’s going to razz you about this for either the rest of his life, or the rest of yours. Whichever one kicks the bucket first.

“Hey,” you say as you and Sans walk up.

“Well _hey_ yourself, chickadee,” Sway croons. He holds his arm out. “I see that I live another day! How ‘bout a little sugar for your sugar?” You chuckle and, knowing full well what he means, but deciding to rib him like you know he is you, you lean over to plant a soft kiss to Sans’ cheekbone. He chuckles deep in his chest, holding you close to him. He winks at a laughing Sway and Papyrus. Sway huffs in feigned impatience and that only causes you to laugh even more.

You say, “Ok, ok, hold your horses, _sugar_.” Sans lets you go and you step up on your tiptoes to give Sway a light kiss on his own cheekbone. He chuckles and hugs your neck. When he lets you go, you wave to Papyrus. “You get one too, ya big lug.” He cackles and bends and another kiss is given to a sharp cheekbone. You don’t miss the faint orange blush that crosses them. Sans watches on with a pleased smile.

That is until he feels a dark, looming figure striding up to the lot of them.

Gaster advances across the parlor, honing in on the group like a weathered hawk, purpose waking up his cold eye-lights. Gaster rarely makes his way out unless he wants something, and that immediately puts Sans on edge. He captures Sway’s eyes and attention. The tall pianist inclines his head. A vague sort of resemblance to relief trickles through Sans. He can always count on Sway’s cleverness.

You see Gaster walking over and a cold feeling steals across your chest, freezing the breath in it. You’re about to sidle over to Sans, but Sway places a lanky, yet heavy arm across your shoulders, tucking you close into his side. You look up at him and he smiles faintly at you. You think he gives a subtle shake of his head too. Your mind accelerates, trying to understand what’s going on and what they’re trying to do. When you look to Sans, he winks at you and that mask of his is back on. He always likes to play with his cards close to his chest. Maybe that means you too, now.

As Gaster approaches, Papyrus waves and shouts, “Good morning, W.D.!” You hide your laugh through a poorly-executed cough.

Gaster straightens even more, if that was even possible, and drones an unenthusiastic, **“Good morning.”** He focuses on Papyrus and Sans. **“I need you both today. Particularly for you to start your own interrogations, Sans.”** You’re not surprised by that, knowing he’d have to do something about those men they brought in. But it doesn’t stop the concern from taking a nice, long break beside your heart. You see Sans’ smile become strained as he nods. His dim pupils flit to you for a moment.

Gaster’s eyes let nothing slip through without his noticing. He turns to you now, a hound on the hunt. A shark that smells sweet blood in the water. His creaking voice asks, **“And has anything of interest revealed itself to you, ___?”**

You straighten and meet his probing gaze. “Not yet.”

His brow raises. **“You do remember what we discussed, yes?”**

You bristle under Sway’s arm. He tightens his hold on you. “We’ve only had one show since renovations finished,” you hiss. Gaster faces you fully but you hold your chin high. An invitation. He’s about to say something when a tinkling metallic voice calls out as achingly clear as a clarion bell.

“Oh dear, W.D.! They haven’t seen _whatever_ it is you’re looking for because they’ve been busy doing their _job_.” Mettaton swaggers up, a radiant savior. Truly, your knight in shining armor. He gestures with a self-assured flourish as he circles around Gaster’s surprised form. “A job that—let me see—I hired them for.”

**“ _You_ hired?”** he retorts, stiffening, close to aggravation.

“Yes, darling.” He motions to Sans now. His pupils are a potent mixture of stunned and relieved. He’s been edging closer and closer to you, you realize, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “As I understand it, you granted Sans a favor by letting them _stay_ here. I didn’t have to let them work here. But I did because my intuition never lets me down.” He smirks lovingly at you, tweaking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “So yes, _I_ hired them. Let them do their job, W.D., sweetheart, sugarlips, babe.” He flicks a button on Gaster’s vest. He exhibits no reaction other than a roll of his eyes.

**“Very well. Meet me downstairs, Sans. Papyrus, Undyne is in my office.”** Gaster gives one more cutting glance at you before disappearing. You deflate, all the tension held within you in his presence releasing its firm hold.

“Thanks,” you say to Mettaton. He chuckles and brushes it off with a wave.

“Think nothing of it, darling. I just love to rattle his bones,” he titters.

Sans closes the short distance between you now, Sway’s protective arm sliding off your shoulders. “thanks,” he says to Sway and Mettaton, who inclines his perfectly coifed head.

“Why, I don’t know what ya could possibly mean,” Sway drawls though his smile is full of understanding.

Sans lets out a brief chuckle and then focuses on you. His pupils are dimmer as they look into yours. “y’alright?” You nod. “i gotta go. i’ll find ya later though.”

Your hand lays on his arm gently as you murmur, “Be careful.”

He chuckles, tilting his head and grinning at you. “careful’s my middle name, sweetheart.”

“No, it is not,” Papyrus interjects with a clever smirk. Mettaton laughs and moves close to him with an exaggerated sway of his hips. He wraps his arms around one of Papyrus’. He becomes rigid all at once, another orange glow spreading across the previously white bones of his face.

“You know, you’re very funny, Papyrus. And _very_ handsome,” Mettaton coos with a bright grin, a long finger stroking Papyrus’ chin.

You laugh as you watch Papyrus struggle to put together a sentence while Mettaton charms him. Your attention is brought back to Sans when his hand grabs yours and tugs you close. His mouth lands on yours insistently, taking like he depends on it, like he won’t get it later. Enjoying this slice of heaven before he has to relegate himself to the hell of his work. It’ll be hard getting you out of his head while he does what he needs to do, but it’s all worth it if he gets to see you and do it all over again tonight.

Sway looks on, nonplussed, at Mettaton and Papyrus and you and Sans. He mutters as he crosses his arms, “Feel like a damn fifth wheel over here.” He swivels his head and shouts to the stage where his baby sits, “Forget these fools, _you’re_ still _my_ love, Charlene!”

Your lips part in a laugh against Sans’ mouth. It causes him to chuckle and finally step back from you. He throws you one last heated glance before yanking Papyrus’ arm for him to follow.

“c’mon, bro,” he says, his grin unamused.

“Alright, b-brother! Bye humans and M-Mettaton!” He waves and tags along after Sans.

Sway’s arm replaces itself around your shoulders and you lean against his thin side. Mettaton walks up to stand beside you both as well.

He says, manicured finger tapping his sharp chin, “So you must give me all the juicy details of your escapades last night. I simply demand it, darling.”

Your laugh turns into a cough in your shock, a hot flush rising to your face. Sway chuckles next to you. He says, “I second that, chickadee.”

“I thought you didn’t want to hear any sorta details about Sans,” you say once you regain your voice.

“I don’t, usually, but the opportunity to hold them over his thick skull later is too good to pass up,” he responds, a wicked smirk and gleam livening up his eyes and face.

You laugh, fighting the heat in your cheeks. “Well, I’d be careful how high you hold it, ‘cause he likes to bite,” you say with your own delighted smirk lifting your lips, your mind straying with your earnest permission to the marks on your shoulder.

Mettaton is stunned into silence, his mouth open wide in disturbed dismay. Sway’s is ajar as well, but it’s ecstatic instead, his eyes athrill and dreamy. You burst into laughter at both of their expressions.

“Do go on, lucky duck,” Sway says, patting your shoulder in barely contained excitement.

“That wasn’t nearly as satisfying as I’d hoped,” Mettaton harrumphs. You laugh and think fondly about last night, this morning, and all the times to come.

You’d beg to differ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyooooooo
> 
> Sorry this is late. Life's been crazy, BUT I'm gonna get back on the schedule and barring any MORE craziness, everything should go back to relative normal.
> 
> Whatever normal is, right?
> 
> But I hope you enjoy, regardless. Thanks for all of your kind words and support. It really means a lot to me <3
> 
> Mob Boss Host tumblr: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	34. Confessin'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING: Torture, violence, blood***

Sans drops into the basement. Gaster enters his dimming vision, standing straight as an arrow while he surveys the cells. The Barber’s men lay dirty and exhausted within, most of the faces grimy and bloody, darkened through dirt and rigorous interrogations. He walks up to the tall, skeletal figure.

 **“Undyne has talked to all of them,”** Gaster mutters, his usual metallic rasp now just a soft scrape.

“’talked,’ huh?” Sans says, amused. Talked with her fists, probably. “nothin’ came outta that?”

**“Nothing of note.”**

Sans rubs his jaw, tilting his skull to take a good look at the men. Some glare, others ignore. He doubts Undyne spent a significant amount of time on any single one of them. Not really her style. If they don’t give anything up front, or after she roughs them up, she’s unlikely to go much farther. No wonder Gaster wanted him. It requires a more…skilled hand.

“maybe she didn’t look at the right one,” he says, thoughtful.

 **“I said she interrogated all of them,”** Gaster sighs.

“for long enough?” Gaster just stands watch, absorbing Sans’ words. Sans steps up to the cells. Hmm…not this one. These men are low rung, small fry. He can see the fear in them. He doesn’t even need to listen to their souls very hard, if at all. He walks over to the next one, eye-lights flipping through each face. Searching for the one who’s going to give him some answers. For the one carrying that sometimes suffocating weight of responsibility. It’s a bearing of will and body that he can perceive. A calmness in the eyes, a steadiness in the hand grasping the trigger. His shoes echo discordant and foreboding in the dingy space. Nearly all of them meet his gaze then look away swiftly.

Except for one.

He stops mid-step and turns, moving close to the bars. The man in the corner doesn’t bat an eye nor does he shift to look at him at all.

Bingo.

“say, who wants to have a little chat?” he asks with a cheery air. He grins at the muttered ‘fuck offs’ and squirming to avoid his eyes, shrinking and hoping they’re not the ones that might be chosen. He steps closer. “how ‘bout you?”

And now the man looks over briefly. But the one next to him speaks up quickly, asking, “Me?”

Sans points, a deadeye. “the big fella next to ya.”

“Nah, you don’t want ‘im,” the man says, skirting the issue. An issue Sans clearly wants to deal with.

Sans chuckles now. “now that’s exactly why i do. makin’ this too easy, bud. you’re just givin’ everything away.” He jerks his thumb. “get up, pal.”

“I’d like to see you make ‘im,” the same man beside Sans’ prize growls.

“well it’s your lucky day,” Sans says. He opens the heavy, iron door with a quick pick of the lock and a grating creak and steps inside. The men stand and face him, rolling shoulders, cracking knuckles. Fire and an invitation in their yellowed eyes. Very intimidating, yadda yadda. His grin widens, his magic itching for release. “last chance to come quietly, bucko.”

“Not a chance,” one of them spits.

Sans chuckles. Then waves his hand swiftly, his eye erupting into dancing flame. The men fly against the walls, grunting from the pressure, their forms now draped in an ominous blue glow. The bars shake from the impact of the bodies. All except for the one in the corner. He glowers at Sans hard now. He’s large and stocky, face bloodied already, dark, dirty hair askew and dripping into his eyes. Guess Undyne got a few good ones in before tossing him back.

“your choice. either way, you’re comin’ with me,” Sans warns, deep voice steeling.

“Alright,” the man says after only a moment of contemplation. “Just let ‘em go.”

Sans steps to the side and gestures widely with his other arm to the door. “after you.” The man makes his way to the cell door without any hesitation, limping, but holding his head high. Sans has gotta give it to him. Showing a lot of moxy, considering what he’s been through and what’s going to happen to him.

But Sans is sure he doesn’t have a clue what’s in store.

“Don’t, Jack!” the first man shouts, grimacing from the pressure pushing down on his chest.

The man—Jack—hisses, “Keep a lid on it!” Sans chuckles and follows Jack out of the cell. After he locks the door with a resounding click, he finally lets the rest of the men fall to their knees with stymied groans. Sans wastes no time. He grabs Jack’s collar viciously and drops into another dimly lit room with no warning. He throws the gasping man into the solitary chair. Gaster steps in from the shadows crawling in the corners, watching with his cold, interested eyes. Dark tendrils snake out, wrapping around the man’s arms, legs, and torso, securing him to the chair with tight promise.

Sans pats the man’s face, forcing him to look up at his grinning, skeletal visage. “lookin’ a little pale there, bud. ya can’t be bone-tired yet before we’ve even started.”

Jack flexes his body, testing his bonds. He laughs, some color returning to his face. “Gonna take a lot more than a couple of punches to make me talk. Lot more than what that fish bitch did.” Sans’ smile grows cold. But lifted at the corners still by cruel intent. It's time. He pushes you far from his mind now. You barely exist at all there in those abyssal recesses.

“jack, was it? heh, so you’re sayin’ you’ll talk if i do more than punch ya?” Jack’s eyebrows stitch together in anger and apprehension. His eyes break contact with Sans’ fading ones to scout for a way out. Now Sans can feel the fear. He can practically taste it. All he’s gotta do is reach out and touch it.

So he reaches out.

His fingers curl in the stifling air, clawing at an invisible wall, bathed in the blue-yellow glare of his eye. Jack’s own eyes widen and his body jerks violently under the force. His magic searches, sniffs out the power lying just beneath the human's body.  _There_. Sans’ hand snaps closed and he _pulls_. Jack yells out, gasping for scraps of breath as what Sans knows to be his soul slips out. The crystal shivers in the light, shaking from its forced manifestation. _Orange, huh._ Jack’s eyes focus wildly on the heart-shaped container, becoming impossibly wider for a long moment before glaring up at Sans, breathing heavily.

Sans asks conversationally, still holding tight to the soul, “ever seen a soul before? this is yours. ya put on such a brave face.” His pupils disappear and his voice drops. “too bad it’s broken.” He squares off in front of the quaking man.

“first things first. where’s jimmy?”

“Not tellin’ you shit,” Jack grinds out.

 _Wrong answer_. Sans’ other hand materializes a short, dagger-like bone. It gleams, wicked and sharp despite the hazy yellowness. “ya probably know what this feels like, huh?” He circles around to Jack’s side and his tethered arm. With an impossible speed ushered even more swiftly by magic, he shoves the shard so deep into his arm that it hits the wood beneath. _Minor impalement._   _Missed the bones. He’ll live._ Jack cries out in pain, trying in vain to dislodge his body from the chair and Gaster’s binds, in spite of the makeshift dagger tugging and ripping at his muscles. But it’s no use. He’s pinned even more now. A stuck pig, ripe for the slaughter. The blood bubbles up from the wound, leaking out around the torn flesh. A crimson sleeve that tries desperately to stymie the damage done yet kills in the very same breath. He materializes another bone similar in size and cut. Sans moves back in front, to the soul hovering between them. Sans tuts.

“not really a walk in the park, but...imagine what it’ll feel like in here,” Sans says with near-curious indifference. “let’s test it shall we?”

Jack’s watering eyes bulge. “No, nonono—aaaAAGGHHH!” he screams as Sans drives the bone shard into the surface of the soul, in addition to squeezing the soul with his magic form the inside out. It’s not far at all, but it doesn’t have to be. Not with the tearing screams pitching higher and higher that he’s hearing from the man. He looks back to Gaster, expectant, who nods. The bone disappears and the man slumps, his pained whimpers slithering through the air.

“i know we look like skeletons, but ya still with us livin' folks?” Sans asks. When Jack doesn’t respond, Sans grabs his slack jaw hard, forcing him to look up at his stern, depthless sockets. His fingers dig into the sweaty stubble. Jack meets them, gaze weak. “there ya go, pal.” He lets go, patting his cheek firmly. “if ya don’t wanna go through that again, you’ll answer my next question. who’s the rat jimmy’s usin’ to get information here?”

Jack’s pants quicken, scared out of his wits now. “I don’t know his name.” Sans sighs and produces another shard, moving to stab the soul again. He's barely rested the tip against the surface when Jack yells, “I SWEAR! I _swear_ I don’t! He’s just some fuck-up, _please_ pleaseplease—”

“ _can it_ ," Sans cuts him off, growling. "ya said fuck up?” he asks now, intrigued.

Jack grinds out, “He’s a fuckin’ druggie. They all are.” Sans looks up to find Gaster striding over, just a ripple in the darkness.

 **“What kind of drugs?”** he rasps, commanding presence resonating through the whole of the room. Sans listens intently. Why does it matter what drugs? Drugs are drugs, to him.

Jack mutters, “Magic.”

 _Oh_.

Sans’ brow draws together, concern their stitch, meeting Gaster’s unflinching stare. He gives nothing away. But Sans knows he’s satisfied when he says, **“Continue.”**

Sans does, asking, “where do they meet?”

The failing man risks a tight chuckle. “Ya really think I give a shit where they go? Not like Jimmy’d tell me any of that. He trusts very few.” He sighs, “And that don’t include me.”

Sans flips the bone end-over-end. “so you’re sayin’ you’re expendable. good to know.” Sans laughs when Jack’s face pales even more. He pauses in his musings, pointing the bone at the man. “say, wouldn’t happen to know a fella named leo, would ya?”

Jack’s confusion spread across his beaten, bruised face. “That prick? Why?”

Satisfaction courses through Sans’ bones. Now he’s getting somewhere. You threaten to come back, your sweet presence tearing down at the walls he's built. But he shoves you away again. He can't lose his cool like last time. He's not the same monster down here. “tell me ‘bout ‘im,” Sans demands, bone flicking pointedly to the quivering soul.

“Always hangs out with Frankie and his sorry group. Been missin’ for a while now. Can’t say I miss ‘im very much,” he says, grimacing and flexing his injured arm. It slides on the wood, the blood making sluggish, squelching noises. The droplets fall fat and viscous on the ground, soaking up the dry dirt coating every inch of this disgusting room.  _Interesting_. But it’s a weight off of Sans’ mind. He’d been worried that more guys in the New Tartaglias knew where you were. Turns out they probably don’t and Leo’s last mission was one he took upon himself to complete. Pure coincidence he assumes. He wasn’t working for Jimmy, but now Sans has the name of the guy he did. Good riddance as far as Sans is concerned. He straightens and turns to Gaster with a final sigh.

“ya got your answers.”

 **“Very well, you may leave,”** Gaster dismisses with a wave of his long hand. Sans nods and his grip slips from the orange soul. The tension starts to drop from Jack’s face. That is until, a darker, almost purple blackness envelopes the soul, completely obscuring the orange. Jack flies back in the chair, ramrod straight, scared stiff. Sans drops out from the room before the screams start.

_Mental recovery unlikely._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOM, BABY
> 
> Slowly, but surely getting back on schedule.
> 
> Mob Boss Host Drinking Hour: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	35. If I Didn't Care

Mettaton left a while ago, utterly repulsed from the rest of your and Sway’s teasing. Now you’re sitting with the tall, lanky pianist at the bar, enjoying some coffee and passing the time until the shows start up.

“So ya had a _good_ time, chickadee?” Sway asks, sipping something a bit stronger than coffee.

You smile into your cup, biting the ceramic rim as you remember. “Oh yeah,” you say. “It was great.”

“Ooooh,” Sway coos as he bumps your elbow, grin wide and expecting. “How long did it last?”

“I dunno…not extremely long?” Sway’s face begins to fall in marked disappointment. But you add with a sneaking smile, “The first time.” Sway lights up again like fireworks in the summer.

He crows, “I’m _so_ proud of ya! My little chickadee is growin’ up!” He crooks an arm about your neck hugging you close. “How many times? Better be at least five—”

You laugh but both of you turn when a deep voice calls out from the stage. Big Johnny is standing furious and confused, hands on his hips, trumpeting out to you and Sway, “SWAY! Get yo ass over here and help me look for my trombone! I _know_ you did somethin’ with it!”

“Them’s some _big_ words, _Big_ Johnny! I haven’t touched your _damn_ trombone! But guess I’ll help ya look for it, ya blind sonuvagun,” Sway cries back, indignant and puffed up in consternation. You snicker. If you didn’t know Sway like the back of your hand, you might think he’s actually being serious. Good thing you know your hands. He leans over to you as he slides off the stool, whispering, “I did though.”

You burst into laughter and pat his arm. You say, “Good luck.” He squeezes you and places a kiss on the top of your head, striding slow as he pleases on over to the stage. You watch them shout at each other with a happy grin then disappear into the back. You sip the last of your coffee, looking with sad eyes at the emptiness. But before you even have time for it to set in, it’s being refilled, the black liquid swirling a deliciously, dark eddy inside. Your eyes flick up at the knowing, toothy grin of B.P.

“Thought you might need a little more,” he says, putting away the pot and getting back to polishing the glasses.

“You thought right, B.P. Thanks,” you reply, raising your mug to him.

His slitted eyes glitter in the afternoon light, taking on a more serious air. “Glad to see ya come into your own here.”

Your lifts lip at the warm memories and faces flashing through your mind at his coaxing words. You roll the mug in between your cool fingers. “Me too. Ain’t been half as bad as I thought it would be. I think your advice helped too. Navigate the waters ‘n such.”

He chuckles. “Good to hear, little buddy. Guess I’m good for somethin’.” You tilt your head and rest your cheek on your propped fist, sipping your coffee.

“Maybe you’re good at sailin’,” you say, smiling kindly.

B.P. folds his arms on the wooden countertop and gestures with his rag. “You know, I look like a cat, so everyone thinks I don’t like water. But I kinda do.”

You hold up your mug. “Then go be your own captain, B.P.” His grin widens, canines showing and a hopeful gleam livening up his eyes. He’s about to say something when the door to the parlor opens and _voilà_ , enter a pair of opposites so stark they could be day and night in the flesh. You and B.P. look over to a jittery, near-mess of a man stumbling in. He barely looks like he can hold himself up, much less take actual steps with his legs. You get a weird, bad vibe from him almost immediately. He looks like he hasn’t had a stiff one in a while. And that might explain his dogged, purposeful steps over to the bar. Not to mention his wild, bloodshot eyes flicking every which way like a sinner in church. He clambers up to the bar and B.P. goes to take care of him, though not before flashing you a long-suffering smile. But right behind the man strides in the contradiction.

Tony.

He’s got a jacket over his usual, casual white shirt today, hands stuffed deep in their pockets. His pageboy is cocked just right, you think, over his shaggy, black hair and he’s sporting a toothpick in between his smiling lips. Those hazel eyes rove across the parlor and come to rest on the bar, where you sit. You wave as he catches sight of you, his eyes and smile brightening. He ambles up to you, extending an arm in greeting. You give him a tight squeeze, and he hugs you to his side, that smoke and spice scent curling its pleasant tendrils about your senses.

“Afternoon,” he says, taking up a seat next to you.

You grin and say, “Right back at ya. What’re you doin’ ‘round these parts this early?”

He gives a good-natured shrug to go along with his easy smile. “Passin’ through. Figured I’d say hey on my way. Maybe get a quick drink.” He looks over in your mug. “Whatcha got there?”

“Coffee,” you say with a contented sip.

“Sounds like a good idea. When _isn’t_ a good time to have coffee?” He catches B.P.’s attention and points to your cup, signaling for one more. He nods and tries to extricate himself from the mad ramblings of the man at the other end. Tony looks for a long moment before leaning over to ask in hushed tones, “What’s his problem?”

You huff a small, half-hearted laugh. “I think the better question is ‘what _isn’t_ his problem?’”

“Alcoholic? Drugs?” Tony muses.

You ask with a faint flash of sadness, “Does it matter?”

“Sometimes,” he responds, still quiet, more absorbed in trying to catch a glimpse of the man’s face. When B.P. drops off another round of coffee, he says, “Thank you.” He spins his own mug in between his large hands, eating up the warmth it offers. He lifts it to toast yours, then takes a long pull, sighing at the end. “Can never go wrong with coffee.” He looks down at your agreeing face and bumps your shoulder with his. “So how ya doin’ today, ___? Ready for your show?”

“’M good. Well-rested. Feelin’ limber,” you tease, shaking out your limbs.

He laughs. “Yeah, I bet your voice is happy that your body is loose,” his voice teases with just a hint of sarcasm.

“Hey, you’ve seen me up there. Singin’ is a full-body sport, thank _you_ very much,” you say, grinning as you chastise him.

He holds up his hands, chuckling. “Alright, firecracker. Ain’t gonna argue with the expert,” he says with a humble tip of his hat and dancing eyes.

“Damn right,” you say, bumping his shoulder with a snicker. His laughs only grow. That is until they’re cut off by the sick man. He pokes Tony’s shoulder and you both turn with questioning stares. He looks even worse off up close. His reddened eyes are shiny with the blank devotion of a zealot, rimmed by dark circles. His skin is sweaty and pale. Washed out like an old rag. What you think might have once been nice clothes are disheveled and unkempt. He looks desperate. And that’s never good in a man. In anyone. Tony angles himself more in front of you.

“Got any goods?” he croaks. His voice scratches at the air perilously.

“What’re ya lookin’ for?” Tony asks. You put your hand on his arm, fingers wrapped in subtle warning on his elbow. You don’t really care for this conversation. Even less where it might end up.

“The good stuff, yeahyeah, the g-good stuff,” he scratches his neck and smacks his lips, nervous as all hell.

“Junk?” Tony asks. Your fingers tighten in time with your heart, an anxious clock. Why is he keeping up with this?

“No! Nonono not that no…. A little M, just to get me through the day, ya know? Help a poor fella down on his luck, huh?” He holds out his dirty hands, grasping the air. He turns to you, hardly even waiting for an answer. He starts to circle around Tony and you stiffen. “How ‘bout you? I saw you singin’, you must know some people, have some money, some M, _anythin’_ —” A rigid arm forces him backwards.

“Take a walk, pal,” Tony says, his usually carefree voice nearer now to a low growl. The man takes the hint with wide, watering eyes and lurches off, careening out of the parlor as he goes.

“Thanks,” you say, still a bit disturbed from the man’s behavior.

He finally looks back to you, turning. His hazel eyes soften and his hand comes up to squeeze the one still on his elbow, gentle and kind. “Wasn’t gonna let him hurt ya. I know guys like that. Do anything for a hit.” You return it before letting go, facing forward again, brow furrowing. “He actually looks familiar.”

Your eyebrows rise. “Is that why you kept asking him questions?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Seen him in here and other bars before.”

Your nails tap the ceramic, wondering if the question you want to ask would be too personal. You’re curious though. And you don’t think he’d hold it against you. You’re friends, right? “Have you done that stuff, Tony?” He looks back at you quickly in surprise, but his recovery is just as swift.

“Nah.” You give him a skeptical look, unsure if he’s lying to cover up an unknown past. He bends his head to you, eyes serious. “And I’m not just yankin’ your chain. Had friends who did it. Not really my bag.”

You chuckle, looking down. You’re more relieved than you thought you’d be. You don’t want anyone to go through that kind of life, much less your friends. “Good. Not mine either.” But another thought pops up. “What’s M, though?”

He frowns for a moment. “Thought you mighta heard about it, considering you hang around a lotta monsters.”

You shrug now, saying, “Like I said, drugs really aren’t my bag.”

“They’re drugs made from concentrated magic,” he answers. Now that’s concerning. You have no clue how that could happen or how it works, but the fact it exists at all is troubling. You can see how it could become a product and sell well. But what are the repercussions? What does it do to the monsters involved? What does it do to the users? Whatever the answers, you know one thing for sure.

Gaster should probably know about it, if he doesn’t already. You'd rather tell him something potentially trivial than risk suffering some wrath later on.

You drain your mug, hoping to clear the bitterness in your mouth. No such luck. The knowledge that you have to go talk to Gaster is enough to ruin a generous portion of your day. You slide off the stool and straighten your clothes with resigned determination.

“Where ya goin’?” Tony asks, confused.

“Gotta see a man about a dog,” you say, disdain made plain in your voice. “Did you wanna wait ‘til I come back? Prolly won’t take long.”

“Well,” he sighs with a smile, turning about on his stool to face you. He sips from his mug and leans back against the bar, once again the picture of ease. “You look a sight less than enthused about it. Want me to join you?”

You rub your chin as you think. Gaster might be less of a creepy asshole if someone else is there. But that’s a _big_ maybe. Might as well give it a shot. And having Tony there will help calm your nerves. Not to mention Tony said he’s seen the man before.

“Sure,” you answer, your mood lifting. He nods, smiling wide and hopping off his stool, throwing a few bucks onto the bar for B.P. You both wave and make your way to the side building. He opens the door for you and then it’s uncharted territory for him. His hazel eyes sharpen, inquisitive, as he looks all around, hands resting in his pockets again, sticking close by your side. You wind through the halls, footfalls echoing up and down the corridors until they stop in front of the carved, wooden doors. You rap your knuckles on them and wait. It doesn’t take long before it opens and reveals a long, skeletal face.

“Hi humans!” Papyrus cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are steadily rollin' now! Enjoy!
> 
> Mob Boss Host Drinking Hour: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	36. All or Nothing At All

Your mouth opens in surprise. “Oh, hey Paps! Uh…where’s Gaster?” you ask, craning your neck to peer inside the office. You feel Tony shift behind you, looking up and down the hall as well.

Papyrus says cheerfully, “He is with Sans downstairs! Do you need something?”

You try not to think too hard about what Sans is doing. It’s something that can be dealt with later. “Yeah, uh, saw something that Gaster might wanna hear about.” Papyrus’ face falls into a mask of seriousness. He opens the door wide, letting you and Tony sidle in.

“You can wait in here until he comes back. What did you see, friend?” Papyrus asks now. Undyne is bowed over the large desk. She raises her head when she hears you enter, red hair sliding across her shoulder like a flaming wave. She grins when you walk in, fangs glistening, but when she spies Tony, her yellow eye glitters in apprehension and dislike. She straightens up to her full, intimidating height and crosses her arms. You think her muscles are always set to ‘Flex to Threaten.’

“How’s it goin’, punk? And uh, Tony,” she asks, tagging his name on with a hint of disdain.

Tony just waves good-naturedly and you say, “Good I guess. But…. Do you guys know anything about M?” you ask, wringing your hands.

“M-Mettaton?” Papyrus stammers, his face flushing the slightest bit. Undyne punches his arm and he throws her a grumpy look while rubbing his bones.

“They mean _M_ ,” she says. His mouth opens in a large O as understanding crosses his sharp features. She turns back to you. “Where did you hear about this?”

“A guy came in lookin’ for some. He was pretty messed up.” You look back at Tony, asking him with your eyes if he’s alright with this. He smiles faintly, nodding. “Tony says he’s seen him around before.”

Undyne stares hard at Tony, who meets it, the calm in the face of the storm. She looks him up and down before addressing you, “Yeah, I think Gaster should hear about it, if he doesn’t know already.”

“What does it do?” you ask now, curious, yet concerned still. Tony steps close to your side, looking around the room, but always coming back to the conversation. You don’t pay that much attention, focused mainly on what Undyne is saying, but, like you had hoped, his presence satisfies your nerves a bit. His scent is reassuring at least.

“Not much for monsters to be honest. More like…energy. An adrenaline rush. But for humans,” she pauses, “bad things I imagine. Very addictive, but not sure what else. Ya don’t see it very often. Not around monsters at least.”

“Do you think Gaster’d really care? He didn’t necessarily want information about _this_ ,” you ask.

“Yeah, it’s a problem. Because to make it, you’d have to have monsters. And we don’t give up our magic easily.”

You feel a pit form in your stomach. You guess that confirms your suspicions. Why would they ever _willingly_ give away their magic? It makes sense that it would have to be taken. And you still don’t know how much would be needed for the amounts that are on the streets. So even though it’s not exactly what Gaster may be looking for in regards to the rat, like Undyne said, it’s a problem.

A shifting rustle pricks your ears while a chill creeps up your stiffening spine with pointed barbs, causing you to move back by Papyrus. His strong hand grips your shoulder, his fingers digging into the fabric and flesh, and that puts your mind at ease somewhat. But only just. Tony hovers behind you on your other side. A ripple passes through the room and the roiling shadows of the corners. Then Gaster steps out, a being from the blackness. His ashen, spider-like hands pass over his jacket as his eyes do the same over the lot of you. His split brow raises in mild surprise. Then those cold eyes rest on you. You feel the weight of their ancient gaze made manifest on your chest.

His broken voice stitches together to ask in intrigued amusement, **“To what do I owe the pleasure?”**

You look up at Papyrus’ composed face. He smiles at you and nods, fingers squeezing your shoulder, encouraging you onward. You hold your head up high, gathering yourself and your unfortunately wayward courage. “I saw something that might interest you,” you say.

Gaster inclines his head and with a wide gesture of his arm and paired with a couple of effortless, long strides, he sits at his desk. **“Please. Do tell.”**

“A man,” you start. “A man came in looking for some drugs. Acting weird.” Gaster leans forward near-imperceptibly, but that bleached face retains an impassive air.

**“Go on.”** He can’t fool you. He’s interested. The careless mirth has disappeared altogether from his voice.

Your eyes flit over your shoulder to Tony now. “But not just any drugs. M.” Gaster’s cleaved sockets widen and you think, for the first time since knowing this dark monster, you see those glowing lights that stand in as his pupils dim to a level less than absolutely sharp.

And then the door opens.

You startle, your focus on Gaster shattering and your heart jumping into your throat. All heads pivot to the door. Sans is paused halfway inside, confused and surprised as he takes in the crowded room.

“did someone die or somethin’?”

You relax, heart easing back down in your chest when he meets your eyes. His pupils soften, but only for a moment before he notices Tony next to you. You see them harden now, a steely sheen taking over those expressive lights. His grin becomes colder as well. On guard.

He closes the door behind him and ambles inside. _What the hell is going on?_ he thinks. Why are you here, not to mention _Tony_? Despite knowing that your heart lies with him as surely as he remembers how you lay with him last night, he still can’t help but feel, with begrudging annoyance, distrustful of this guy. He likes to tell himself it’s not because of jealousy, at least not anymore. But he’s been having trouble separating his emotions out, laying them plain in front of him. All he can do is take solace in the sure knowledge that you’re his and he’s yours.

“what’s the party for? i didn’t get an invite, i’m hurt, w.d.,” Sans chides in his low, laughing voice, laying a hand over his chest. You know he’s dying to know what’s going on though. You’re also wondering about Gaster’s reaction to your news. He looked a sight more than just interested. He looked…taken aback. Which, in Gaster, is concerning.

**“___, here, has discovered some very interesting information. It seems the man you interrogated was correct. And ___ saw our quarry,”** Gaster explains with a pleased smile fracturing his face apart even more than the deep wells already bisecting it. Sans’ sockets enlarge and his skull snaps to you, the cool demeanor breaking.

“where is he?” Sans demands, tensing like he’s gonna get outta dodge right then and there.

You cringe. “He left,” you say, voice quiet. The heat dissolves in Sans’ face as he gazes at you.

Gaster hums in barely checked disappointment. **“Do you know where he went?”**

You shake your head, unsure of where to go from here. But it seems like you don’t have to. Because Tony speaks instead, taking the reins from your hesitant hands.

“I might have an idea,” he says.

Everyone swivels their attention to him. He rubs his bearded cheek, looking only about half as anxious as you would be in his situation.

**“Tony, I presume?”** Gaster asks, tilting his head and eye-lights appraising the man before him.

Tony chuckles. “Ya do know a lot…. But you’re right, that’s me.”

Gaster’s voice rasps, girding itself in the cloak of command, **“And I want to know more. What information do you have?”**

Tony smiles and shoves his hands back in his jacket pockets. The creaking of his knuckles is muffled by the thick fabric, but they sound loud in your ears, your concentration on him turned up to ten. “I’ve seen the guy before in another bar. _The Foxhunter’s_.”

Now it’s your turn to still, freezing in recognition. You and Sans share a dark, knowing glance. Once again, Gaster lets nothing slip by his near-omniscient sight. **“What is it, ___?”**

You clear your throat, hands becoming sweaty and clammy from this newfound knowledge. “I know that bar. Played there a lot with some friends.” You pause before saying, “Still do.” And then everyone else looks to you, a strange mix of shock and confusion weaving about the faces. Probably none more than Tony’s though. You feel his eyes boring into the back of your head, but you ignore him for now. You’re too busy being caught in the web of Gaster’s. That ever-present coldness you see in them diminishes, gaining new life with the birthing of ideas and possibilities. You don’t like his conniving stare. Not one bit.

He stands, a shadowy tower, and begins a slow circle around the desk, the misleadingly strong tips of his delicate-looking fingers tracing braided patterns into the polished wood. **“When do your _friends_ play again?” **he asks.

“I don’t know exactly. But I think they mostly play every night. They used to at least,” you respond. You still aren’t comfortable even sharing that much with him. But you have no choice and his imposing stature and gaze makes it as clear as the day is long.

He clasps those twitching hands behind his back. **“Good. Because you are going there tonight.”** Your heart drops at the same time it flies at the opportunity to get out and play again. But it’s only a sick echo of the joy you might feel otherwise. It’s not just music you’re going there for tonight.

“i’m goin’ with ya,” Sans says immediately.

**“No,”** Gaster replies, matter-of-fact.

“What?” you and Sans both say at the same time, agape.

Gaster repeats with a sigh, **“You are not going with ___.”**

“why the hell not?” Sans demands, his anger quickly slipping from his control. His soul seems to drop from his chest, replaced instead by a white fury that somehow manages to paint his vision red. Like hell he’s going to leave you to go out in the city by yourself. There’s no telling what could happen. And he’ll be damned by all the fires of the black pit that he’ll let anything happen to you. Just the possibility of you being hurt or worse is enough for him to push back, test the line that Gaster is crossing with little regard for you or anyone else.

You’re just as stunned and upset. Even if someone else did go with you, you want it to be him. You know for a fact he would do whatever he could to keep you safe. But that comfort is long gone at Gaster’s behest. Gaster turns to face the shorter, decidedly more furious skeleton.

**“Because if this is _the_ man we are looking for, they will _know_ we are there and looking for them. We are not exactly inconspicuous.”**

Sans gestures fiercely to you, hissing, “and they are?”

**“They are an entertainer, nothing more.”** A small breath leaves you. Gaster’s words strike deeper than you imagined they would. They twist in your gut, a cruel and sharp knife. It’s true. You’re an entertainer. But…you know you’re more than just that. However, Gaster’s inflection spits otherwise. It sure as hell makes Sans bristle. You don’t notice Tony reacting the same way, his sharp eyes turning to glare up at Gaster. **“The man, if they knew ___, would know them as just a musician. They would not think they would be privy to our business.”**

Sans won’t let this go. “and what if somethin’ happens to ‘em out there? they’re still wanted dead.”

Gaster’s smile curls and you want to punch it right off of his face. **“Then let us hope they make it back in one piece.”** You don’t miss Sans’ growl. Papyrus and Undyne don’t look pleased either.

“They don’t have to go alone.”

Once again, Tony is the center of all eyes and attention. His eyes are lit by a fire now, his face grim in resolve. And something else you can’t quite place as he gazes up at Gaster.

“I’ll go with ‘em,” he offers. His tone of voice presents no room for argument.

It all seems to get worse in Sans’ mind. He knows he should be grateful, hell, even relieved at the absolute least. But he doesn’t. How can he? _He_ will be with you, instead of him. What can Tony possibly do to protect you? Tony knows almost nothing about this situation, and Sans knows almost nothing about Tony. Gaster said he can’t go _with_ you. He didn’t say anything about following. And that’s the only thing that keeps Sans together and his mouth shut in a gross semblance of a grin.

Gaster waves his hand, nonchalant and callous. **“I do not care.”** He strides up to you now and you feel your skin crawl, gooseflesh tracking in unpleasant waves across your skin, hair on the back of your neck standing on frightened end. Again, you tell yourself over and over,  _Don’t move. Don’t give him the satisfaction._ He orders, **“Come back with a name or information. Anything will do. Report back to me.”** And then all your previous worries and fears come crashing back when his long hand extends and his finger tips your chin to look up at him. Dread crawls its way inside the fissures in your heart with dirty, ragged claws, infecting it and leeching away any sense of comfort and hope with a vicious laugh. His sneer screams that he knows. Knows you hate it. And it just makes him smirk wider. **“I anxiously await your return,”** he mutters. You jerk your head away with a disgusted scowl and retreat back quickly, wasting no time in leaving the room.

You hear Gaster chuckle in amusement before you slam the door behind you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank yous guys as always, for your amazing support in my writin's and your general awesomeness. Things'll pick up in no time at all.
> 
> <3
> 
> Mob Boss Host's Hideout: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	37. Banish Misfortune

“hey!” a voice calls out.

The slamming of the door is still ringing down the hall when you hear that voice. Deep down, it’s the only thing you want to hear. But it’s hard to make it past the blood pounding in your ears and the anger boiling your veins. It’s a bouncer at the door of your heart, telling any well-meaning bastards aimed at making you feel better to beat it. A bony and firm hand grabs your bicep, halting you. You turn and meet Sans’ dim eye-lights, but see Papyrus, Undyne, and Tony step out of the room after you. You set your jaw and raise your voice to Tony, saying, “Hey, can ya wait for me in the parlor?” He nods, that pained look still sitting in his face. Papyrus and Undyne escort him back, giving you and Sans space. That cold and warm hand comes up to your jaw, stroking it and turning your gaze back to him.

“y’ok?” he asks.

You force a half-hearted smile. “What do _you_ think?”

His own anger flashes across his face, but it passes, a concerned one replacing it. He pulls you close, muttering, “c’mere, sweetheart.” Your arms lace themselves around his neck and his encircle your back. “hold on,” he says. You feel that familiar drop in your churning stomach and open your eyes to your room. You feel Sans’ teeth press to your neck, nuzzling and breathing deep. “i’m sorry he did that,” he growls low.

“I hoped he wouldn’t. Guess I was wrong,” you vent, your tone sharp. You pull back, though now that you’re so near Sans, your contempt begins to wane and a strong need calls out to you and forces your fingers to drift across his neck. He grasps one of your hands.

“i’m goin’ with ya,” he says, conviction making his voice stronger.

“But Gaster—?” you ask in confusion.

He cuts you off. “i don’t give a shit what he said. i’ll be followin’ behind. if not to keep ya safe, then to make sure tony doesn’t fuck this up.”

His jaw comes next to the attention of your fingers. Your lips twist in a wry smirk when you say, “It’s nice he offered. He didn’t have to do that.”

Sans grinds his teeth so hard he feels the creaks resonating around in his skull. But…he guesses he should be thankful. Because you’re right. He didn’t _have_ to offer. Yet he did. It doesn’t mean Sans trusts him in the slightest. But if it does increase your chances of being safe—and Tony obviously seems to care about that—then Sans won’t hold it against him. All he wants is you to come back to him safe and sound.

“yeah, ya could say that,” he allows. You meet those still-dim lights you’ve come to know and care for. Both of your hands rise to his face now and coax him down to your lips. He groans but you don’t see his brow crease, too caught up in the kiss and the incredible way it feels to you. The way it’ll always feel to you, you think. He wishes you didn’t have to go. He wishes he could keep you here. He wishes he could take you right now and for the rest of the night, come Hell or high water. He wishes for a lot of things. But like most things in this town, in this life, he won’t get them. Not right now at least. He has to protect you, bring you back intact, whole. Because he wouldn’t forgive himself if you got hurt. Not when he could have done so much more, to hell with orders. Then, and only then, can he feel secure in your place here, with him. So for now he just enjoys the way your lips slide against his mouth, the way your breath catches, the restlessness of your fingers on him. He returns it all. Until it’s time.

You part, breathing hard, a flush spreading across the whole of your body it seems. Sans’ eyes commit crimes, undressing you, making you sweat, and throwing in the match to light you on fire. You say, with no urge to actually go, “Gotta get my things,” hedging around your own desires to stay.

“yeah,” he says to no one in particular. But still not letting go. Neither of you do. Like there’s this separate conversation going on around you that none of you want a part it, so you just let your bodies do the talking instead. However, just the thought of Gaster coming to make sure you’re on your way is enough to deter you. You kiss Sans once more and then, with dragging sighs, really do separate yourselves. He watches you move away to change into something more casual. You strap your knife and gun to your thigh once dressed. There’s no way you’re forgetting those.

“don’t think i’ve forgotten my promise,” he says, deep voice like a far-off train.

“Which one?” you tease in good humor, throwing a gentle smirk his way. You pick up the precious bundle that holds your flute. They make faint ticking sounds as they knock together, an ominous reminder of the gig they’ve been assigned to perform tonight.

He chuckles, scuffing his heels while he paces around the room with slow, measured steps more befitting a tiger than a skeleton. “two in particular, i s’pose. one, that once we’re back, you’re mine tonight. and two…that i won’t ever let anythin’ happen to ya.” When you raise your head, you meet his eye-lights. They’re no longer aflame with the lust you both fell under just moments before. But rather a much different desire, though just as potent. One that would do anything for you, should you just ask. And even then, if you can’t.  

“I know, Sans. Thank you. I mean it,” you answer seriously. You step over and reach up, placing your lips one last time to his waiting mouth. Your hand slides up his vest, feeling the supple fabric hiding those wonderful, dense bones beneath. His right arm snakes around your waist and the other cups your cheek. You feel the warm flames of his eye lick your face and then you drop, still in his arms. Luckily, you find yourselves alone in the hall right outside the parlor.

He moves his tightening hands to your shoulders, staring at you intently now. Capturing your gaze and attention as surely as a bear in a trap. “stick close to tony. don’t look scared or anxious. you’re strong, charming as hell. use that and most anyone will overlook ya. keep a sharp eye out, but don’t be lookin’ over your shoulder for either me or the barber’s men. that’ll only attract unwanted attention.”

His voice is like unrelenting steel and as serious as cancer. Yet, somehow, you find the time to smile and let out tiny chuckle. “If I belong anywhere, it’s there. I’ve got this.” He nods, almost grinning now, reassured by your courage.

“i’ll be right behind ya,” he promises, letting you go and opening the door for you. He follows you out and over to the bar where Tony, Papyrus, and Undyne stand.

“Good to go?” Tony asks, looking you up and down. His jaw and face are set for the night ahead. He barely even acknowledges Sans. But those hazel eyes are as razor-sharp as ever. A sheen seems to cast over them, glazing and firing them into a restless brilliance. Though, knowing Tony, it’s probably more excitement than anything else.

You nod just as Papyrus says, “Be careful, human.” Undyne gives a sharp jerk of her head in agreement. She likes this just as much as Sans does you think. Which is to say, not at all.

A smile cracks the long-held worry in your face. “I will. Be back before you know it.” You hope you came off more confident than you feel right now. You give one long, last look to Sans, his dim, yet intense eye-lights catching yours before you and Tony walk out of the parlor.

You don’t really know why, but you feel now more acutely the enthusiasm of leaving the parlor than you ever have before. Was it because you didn’t really think you’d ever step out of it again? At least until the Barber’s men stopped looking for you? Because you promised Sans you wouldn’t without his knowing or accompanying? Either way, the gritty stench that sits heavy in the unforgiving heat of the breeze blowing by and the tumultuous racket of the cars and people whipping past only serve to stir you up, for better or for worse.

You take a deep breath as you walk with Tony. Two pairs of shoes scuff up the trash and dirt littering the occupied sidewalk. Small puddles reflect the bold neon blues, reds, pinks, and yellows, extending farther down into a world you hardly even recognize anymore. Yet you know you still love it. It’s not easy on the eyes, but it’s something to look at. Has always been. Tony looks over to you, his mouth crooked, seeming to enjoy the night as much as you are right now.

“Good to be out and about?” he asks.

“Despite the reasons for being out…yeah. I am,” you respond with a contemplative tilt to your head.

He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, long legs taking one stride for nearly every two of yours. “Why’s everyone so up in arms about you leavin’? Not like you’re a captive.” He glances over. You think you see him beginning to hope for the opposite as he asks, “Right?”

You sigh, wishing he wasn’t really asking about it, but figuring he should know something at least. He’s your friend. You’d hate to turn him down to hang out because he doesn’t know the danger you’re in. And you’d hate even more putting him in danger for something he isn’t aware of. “Yes, and no. I came to M’s through…less than savory means,” you answer coyly.

He laughs, black brows raising into the lost locks of his hair. “Oooh, am I friends with a criminal? Scandalous.”

You smirk. But the truth is thinly veiled behind your flippant tone. “I didn’t shoot anyone who didn’t deserve it.” Now that truly catches Tony’s surprise. But, true to form, he recovers with grace and ease.

“Remind me to never get on your bad side,” he teases, leaning over to wink at you. He straightens and rolls his shoulders, the wind tossing his hair around. “I won’t pry. Everyone’s got their secrets. But as long as you’re not in danger, then it’s all good.”

“Well…uh, ‘bout that…,” you say, a guilty smile threatening your otherwise calm features. Tony slows as he looks over. Instead of surprise, concern now takes precedent in every part of his bearing.

“Are you in danger right now?” he asks.

“It’s not exactly safe for me to be out, no,” you admit with reluctance. You look down at your flute case, fingers twisting the pliant leather. “So I understand if you wanna back out ‘cause of it. But I want ya to know…it means a hell of a lot to me you’d offer to do this in the first place.” You’re coaxed out of your thoughts by a soft, yet sturdy hand on your elbow. Tony looks down at you, understanding as steadfast as his resolve.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, ___. I promise. Gonna take a lot more than some assholes to scare me,” he says with a grin.

A warm feeling sweeps its way through you. It’s born wailing into the world from the knowledge that a friend has crossed some kind of meaningful, intangible threshold from acquaintance to trusted companion. Someone you’d give as much for as they would give you. And Tony’s given you a lot. He’s sure as hell giving a lot now. His willingness to risk his own safety means more to you than he knows. You won’t let him regret it.

“Thanks, Tony. Really,” you say, severity pervading every inch of you. You hope he recognizes it. He nods and that sweet grin of his still continues to rest on his face when you both start walking again. “I doubt anything’ll happen, but being prepared always helps.”

“True enough. Thanks for telling me,” he says. You nod, smiling and keep your eyes straight forward. It’s hard to forget you need to keep them ahead. You want to look behind you so bad, to see if you can spot Sans. But you doubt even you could catch a glimpse of him. If tried and true gangsters can’t see him, you surely won’t be able to. You’ll just have to trust that he’s there. Something…very deep inside you tells you he is.

Then Tony elbows you, his grin widening. “So I didn’t know you could play, too.” You laugh and nod. “How long ya been doin’ that?” he asks.

“Since I was pretty young. Can’t remember how long. They were friends with my parents,” you answer with your own smile.

“Well, I’m excited to hear ya,” he says. After a moment, he points up ahead. The weather-beaten and lovelorn sign of _The Foxhunter’s_ slides into green-gold view. “We’re here.”

Now the anxiety rears its ugly head, ripping what seems to be the center of you out. You feel hollow, the happiness from before leaking out of the hole left behind. “How the hell am I gonna do this?” you mutter to yourself, voice small and quiet to even your own ears. You don’t really want to ask Tony for help, though a part of you may want to. This is your job, not his.

You guess he overheard you because he surprises you by saying, “Just do what you do. I’ll look for the guys. When you have a break, I’ll let you know who they are and you can see if you can get anything out of them.”

You turn and throw him an incredulous, if not skeptical look. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Well you’re not asking. I’m doin’,” he retorts with a smirk. He doesn’t give you a chance to argue, opening the scarred door. A flood of noise spills out onto the street, mixing with the sounds of the bustling night. But included in that thick river are the familiar, lilting strains of your own beloved background. He ushers you inside without another thought and you step into a world that seems to rip you apart. On the one hand, you’re drawn in by the siren song of the drum and fiddle. But on the other, you’re repelled to your core by the notion of what Gaster wants you to accomplish here tonight. All you want to do is go back home and be with Sans. Thoughts of him threaten to destroy your resolve, so you push them away fiercely. For now.

You walk inside with Tony. He places his warm hand on the small of your back and it never seems to leave. The contact eases your nerves. He bends and whispers in your ear,” I’ll be right over there at the bar if ya need me.” You nod, his hand lingers a moment more, and then he’s gone. You watch him settle in like he’s done this a thousand times, before weaving your way through the impressive crowd. It’s sure as shit a head-turner. You’ve experienced a few nights like this, here at _The Foxhunter’s_ , but it’s not often. Maybe once you get back into the swing of things, it won’t be as overwhelming.

Maybe once you’ve had a few, too.

You spy the ring of your usual cohorts and Tim spots you right back. He raises his arms and shouts, “___! LASS! Get over here!”

You laugh, his endless charm always a balm to your soul. You reach him and he grabs your arm, pulling you down to plant a bushy, hot kiss to your cheek. Peals of laughter erupt from you and lift his own red and ruddy cheeks, a happy twinkle brightening his eyes. You’re as glad to see him as he is you, you think.

“Hey, Tim. Not gettin’ into too much trouble are ya?” you tease.

He points a thick finger in your face, swaying a bit. “I make no such promises. Pull up a seat, pull up a seat.” He grabs a chair and slides it between him and Kate. “There ya go.” You give Kate a hug, smiling as you make yourself comfortable and putting together your flute.

“You better keep makin’ this a trend. I like having you here,” Kate says to you while she tightens her bow.

“I think it will be. ‘Cause I like bein’ here too,” you respond, genuinely excited now.

Tim pulls out his trusted flask and holds it out to you with all the reverence of a vicar and his communion wine.

You take it just as fondly and tip it back as he watches, eyes glittering and grinning mouth open as if he were taking the swig himself. When you hand it back with a sharp exhale, he chuckles and says, “ _Now_ you’re ready.”

You turn in your chair, pretending to situate your case, but actually trying to see if you can spot Sans one more time. No cigar. But you do catch Tony’s eye. Though dark, you can tell it’s alive and animated with curiosity. You wonder if he goes to sessions at all, since he’s said he’s been here in the past. Either way, he’s never seen you play before, and you find yourself raring for the opportunity for your friend to really see what you can do. To see…you.

“Let’s get to it,” you say to Tim and Kate.

And then Tim hits the drum at a breakneck pace. His tipper twists and dribbles across the goatskin drum, his other palm flattening and cupping along the inside to a tune only he can hear right now. His face is slack, though you know the amount of his concentration through the twitch of his mouth and the jerking of his brow. Kate flashes you an encouraging wink. You lift the flute to your lips and begin, flying with a reel at the proffered tempo. It’s one hell of a warm up.

~~~

Tony’s never seen you like this before. Never seen a more…truer representation of yourself. He knows you have incredible talent; since the very night he saw you. You’re amazing when you sing and dance up on the stage. But this…it’s different. The way you move to the music, like your instrument is just an extension of your body. You take to this atmosphere like a duck in water and he asks himself why he hasn’t done this or seen you do it before. He hates that this had to be the way to see it—not to mention the potential danger that you’re in—but he’s nothing if not grateful for the opportunity to be with you. Without the skeleton. Speaking of which, he hasn’t caught sight of him.

Which is also good.

He doesn’t know the exact details of your relationship. He just knows you two are close. It’s not that he doesn’t want you to have friends. Isn’t that what he is? He’s just wary of _Sans_. He’s wary of anyone who’s so…outwardly hostile. Particularly to him. Tony’s spent a lot of time avoiding or taking care of those kinds of people, and he’s not gonna start abandoning what’s kept him safe now. He hopes what’s between you and the skeleton isn’t more, but his mind stops that train of thought _very_ quick like he threw a penny right on the rails. Instead he takes a long swig of his drink. He turns back to the bar and focuses his hearing and eyes on the conversations and people going on around him.

Hazel eyes search the the bar up and down. Neither of you know it, but keen, white eye-lights do the same. Tony’s eyes fall on a small group at the other end. He recognizes at least one. The man from the bar earlier today. He looks…significantly more put together. At least in comparison. He probably got more junk in him to even him out. He’s surrounded by two other men that Tony thinks he recognizes. It’s more of a vague resonance though. His friends would know for sure. He slides off his stool and maneuvers his way through the mass of people to get a little closer and see if he can overhear anything. He doesn’t have to try very hard; they’re bragging up and down the place. Not to mention that the man they saw before is there, and that’s enough to know these are the guys. He’ll let you know once you have a break.

~~~

You finish the set and break away with an exhale you feel from the very depths of you. You ask Tim and Kate, “Gonna get a drink, want anything?”

Kate holds up her glass, saying, “Nah, thanks though.”

Tim, on the other hand, says, “Well, I won’t turn one down, luv. Ya know what I like.”

“You got it,” you laugh. It only increases when he takes up your hand to give it another bushy kiss. You pat his smiling cheek before you leave. You shuffle through the people and some even stop you to say they enjoyed your playing. It’s always nice to have support. It’s empowering in a way. It kind of reminds you that you’re home. That what you’re doing is what you should always do and never forget it, because it’s who you are and where you come from. _Especially_ since you can’t even do that.

_Go home_.

You shake your head and make your way over to where Tony is sitting. You slip up onto a stool and say to a bartender, “Two whiskeys, neat, please.” They nod and then another deep, familiar voice speaks up by you.

“That was amazing,” Tony says. You meet his thrilled face, his eyes alight from the intoxicating atmosphere and music. You think you don’t look too different.

“They’re really great musicians, aren’t they?” you ask, turning to look over your shoulder at Tim, Kate, and the others.

“They are. But I was talkin’ ‘bout you. _You’re_ really fuckin’ great, ___.”

Your cheeks flare and you tell yourself it’s just the alcohol. You laugh anyway and try to not meet those vividly hazel eyes. “If you talked any more shit, Tony, you’d be shaped like a toilet.”

He barks out a laugh, grasping his belly. Once he recovers, he bumps your shoulder with his while he rolls his eyes. “I mean it. You are.”

You just smile and accept the compliment without further ado and pay the bartender what you owe when he deposits your drinks. You change the subject and ask, “So you got anything for me?” He takes a sip of his drink as well.

“Yeah, to the left, far end. See the guy we saw earlier?”

You discreetly glance to where he’s talking about. He’s right. There’s the man. He looks better at least. He doesn’t look like he’d kill someone just for a taste of _anything_ now. But two other men are with him, chatting and drinking and laughing. How the hell are you going to get any information from them? You don’t want to do anything to jeopardize your safety or your cover. You might have to draw on skills you haven’t used in _quite_ a while.

“What’re you gonna do?” Tony asks, keeping his voice low and eyes forward.

“Wing it,” you say as you tip back the rest of your drink. You push over Tim’s drink to him. “Do me a favor and give this to the mustachioed fella playin’ the drum. Be back in a bit.”

“___?” he hisses, exclaiming in his confusion and surprise. He tries catching your arm but you shift away too quickly for him. You hear his curse but then block out everything not pertinent to achieving your goal. You draw that feeling of confidence over you like a well-worn cloak, so natural now to you. The demands of your childhood on the streets had only lent you that single-minded determination to get what you need by any means necessary, only evolving over the years. Then with your performing, it was honed into something genuinely useful and, sometimes, more effective than you could have possibly hoped for. It’s gotten you into trouble, sure, but it’s saved your life many more times. You hope it can do the same for you this time.

You slink over to the men. Then suddenly, your foot catches on nothing and you stumble into the tallest of the three. You cry out and grasp at his arms and shirt. He catches you, fortunately, completely taken aback.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, clumsy,” you stammer, looking up at him with wide eyes. He stares down at you, the shocked frustration melting from his features when he laughs. His slick, brown hair gleams sickly in the yellow light. He has a sharp nose, more like a beak than anything and his eyes are dark, beady, and set beneath heavy lids. He’s tall, but not built. Not like Tony is. He also smells so much like cheap cigarettes and liquor that you almost gag.

“No problem at all, sweet thing.” You slap on a smile and look down, gasping when you see a wet spot marking his shirt. You grab a napkin and start wiping his front, furiously.

“Shit, I spilled my drink on you too. Damn, I’m sorry,” you apologize. One of the men beside you whistle and the man in front of you chuckles, stopping your hands.

“Don’t worry about it. But lemme get you another, how ‘bout that, sugar?” he asks, his yellow teeth glinting dully in the hazy glow of the bar.

“That’d be really kind of you, thank you,” you say, biting your lip. His thick hand lays on your back, pushing you forward to the counter and in the heart of the group of men. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end at the contact and your position now. But it has to be done. You grit your teeth and move forward, accepting the drink with delicate grace.

You turn with your back to the bar, sipping the whiskey, and say, “So, tell me. What do you guys _do_? Something fun and exciting, I hope. You boys kinda look like you do.” You lean forward and grin warmly up at them, trying to seem as interested as possible.

The tall man leans back and stuffs a hand in his pocket, a self-satisfied smirk crossing his hawkish face. He speaks up and you get the sense this might be the leader of their little gang. Good enough for you. You’ve got his attention for now. “Oh yeah.” He leans forward and he’s so close you can smell the alcohol on his breath. You fight to keep a passive face. “We get up to some dangerous stuff, sugar. Don’t we boys?” he asks the two other men. They nod and laugh.

“What kinds of stuff?” you ask now, keeping your voice low and sultry, lifting your face to meet his.

“Run with a tough crowd.” He moves his head by your ear. “Ever heard of the New Tartaglias?”

You gasp, an amazed smile lighting up your face. “You guys run with _them_? Wow,” you breathe, your chest rising and falling deeply. His smug smirk only widens, delighted in your awed reaction. “Say, I never got your names,” you say, poking the man’s chest.

“Well, I’m Sal,” he points to the other man on your left, “this is Joe,” then he gestures to the man you saw before, “and this is Manny.” You smile sweetly at all of them, offering your hand to shake. After, Sal asks, “And what about you, sugar?”

You grin and tease, “Well you can just keep callin’ me sugar.”

“I like that,” Sal laughs, low in his throat.

“So whatdya do for the New Tartaglias?” you ask, broaching something that could go either way. You hope it doesn’t turn sour. They all three share a look. Manny looks wary, fidgeting with his drink. Joe a little less so.

Sal, on the other hand, looks like he could care less about what he’d give away and more about trying to get into your pants. Your internal grimace is both victorious and full of disgust. _You can try all you want, sucker, but sure, give it all away first. Ain’t gonna do you much good, since you’ll be getting’ nothin’ in return._ “Well Manny here’s like a bonafide spy, ya know,” Sal says.

“Well, uh, Sal—” but Manny is cut off with a look from Sal.

“I _got_ it,” Sal hisses. “They won’t know what to do with it anyway.” He straightens, chuckling. You just listen on, focused.

“How do you do that? Must take someone pretty skilled,” you coo, letting plain astonishment and interest coat your voice in a saccharine guise.

Sal whispers in your ear, “Between you and me, he gets a little help.”

“From what?” you whisper back. His chapped lips barely skirt your ear and it takes every inch of you not to recoil.

“From _M_.”

Your heart begins to do flips. You know now you’re on the right track. “ _M_? Isn’t that stuff dangerous?” you ask a little louder.

“It’s amazing is what it is,” Manny says now. And now his eyes glaze over, and you wonder if he’s high on it right now. “Makes you feel…powerful. L-like you can do anything.”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. Freak.” Joe mutters into his glass.

“What does it do?” you ask Sal.

He shrugs. “Powers ‘n shit. Don’t really know. Haven’t done the stuff myself. Just distribute.”

“From the Tartaglias?” you dig further.

Sal nods, but is punched on the arm by Joe. “The _hell_ was that for?” Sal growls.

“If Jimmy or Lukas hear you been sayin’ shit, he’s gonna have _all_ our heads. I suggest you shut it, now,” he warns, shoving a dirty finger in Sal’s face. He slaps it away, anger searing lines across the stretched skin.

“Alright, alright!” Sal turns back to you now, apologetic grin lifting his mouth and the tension. “Sorry, sugar, ‘s all I can say.”

You shrug and wink. “No worries. Don’t mean nothin’ to me.” You look over their shoulders, making a show of catching someone’s attention. “Look, I gotta get back to it, but thanks for your company.” You smooth Sal’s vest, letting your hand linger and your voice drop. “And thanks for the drink, Sal.” He doesn’t know what hit him. You sidle out of the group and away before they can say another word and stop you. You tip the whiskey back, needing the heat to burn away the revulsion you feel suddenly. You want nothing more than to leave and go back to Sans, but part of you wants to finish out the session. You don’t know when you’ll be back. You spy Tony sitting in your chair in the circle, chatting with Tim but eyeing you like a hawk.

You walk up and place a hand on their shoulders. Tony’s head snaps up and locks onto your face, searching it for anything out of place. Tim laughs and salutes you with his glass.

“There y’are, lass. ‘Bout time to get goin’ again. Looks like you’ll have to relinquish the seat, boy-o,” he chuckles, gesturing to Tony.

“Yeah. Nice talkin’ to ya, Tim,” Tony says, shaking his hand and sharing the briefest of glances before focusing back on you.

“Didja get what ya came for?” he asks, scooting close by you.

“Yep. After this, we can go.” He says nothing, only nods and then goes back to the bar.

“Nice fella,” Tim says, striking up casual conversation when you start putting your flute back together and tuning it.

“Have a good chat?” you ask, stretching your fingers and wrists. They ache pretty quick now after such long breaks between playing. There’s something to be said about practice and consistency, that’s for damn sure.

“Mhmm. Seems to care ‘bout ya an awful lot,” he responds, looking at you pointedly through eyebrows as thick as the mustache sitting on his upper lip.

You raise one of your brows, nonplussed. “Well, I care about him too. He’s been a real good friend.”

Tim’s hand snags up your own so quick that you start, surprise darkening your features. “Be careful, lass. I’d hate to see anythin’ happen to ya. When I say he cares for ya an awful lot, it can be both good and bad. Keep at least one of those sharp, pretty ones you have out to see which it might be, alright?”

An almost painful nostalgia makes it’s way deep inside your heart, wringing you out to dry. But along with it, a stinging joy. The way he said those words reminded you so much of your father at that moment that it both frightens and invigorates you. They knew each other very well and by all accounts, Tim _should_ be your father now. You let out a weak laugh. “You a little young to act like a father, Tim?” He chuckles and his hand lays on your head to tilt it forward. He plants a kiss to your hair and the token is so kind that you almost cry right then and there.

“Well I’d be proud to call ya my own, lass. I know your father is proud of ya,” he mutters to you.

You chuckle. “Now I know you’ve officially had too much to drink.” Tim barks out a laugh and pats your back.

“Alright, smartass. Start ‘em up,” he says with a broad, happy grin. You count off and begin, pleased to be back at it, in someplace you feel comfortable and safe and normal again.

Two pairs of eyes soften as they watch, but none more than the white pupils tucked far back in the dark, where no eyes could penetrate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT I'M ALIIIIIIIIIIVE
> 
> Yet still dead inside. 
> 
> Nah, only kinda. But I AM sorry it's been so long. I got stuck in a rut with life and emotions and things, but I'm back baby (Bender dance). Thanks for all of your patience and support in this story. Really. I made it a longer chapter so hot-diggity-dog. 
> 
> Come shoot me an ask or two or whatever to say hey 'n such. I like hearin' from ya.
> 
> ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	38. Cross Your Heart

“B'careful gettin’ ba' nowya hear?” Tim says with a helluva slur of his already lilting speech. 

“I will, don’t worry,” you respond with a knowing laugh, hugging him tightly. He plants another trademark bushy kiss to your cheek. You're almost sent reeling by the tide of memories it brings up.

But Kate speaks up now, her tired face forever drawn up in a kind smile. “Come around a little more often if you can.” She pulls you back to shore and, bittersweet, rationality.

“I’ll try,” you say to her, turning to hug her goodbye now. You honestly don’t know when you will be able to come back. It’s something you and Sans will have to work out if you do. When you separate, you grab your case and tip back the rest of your drink, eyes looking around for Tony. He’s already coming up to you, tall body parting an easy path through the milling crowd. You meet him halfway and his hand once again finds a home on the small of your back.

He says, “We’ll have to come back and do this again, ___. I had a lotta fun.”

You chuckle as you step out into the night air. Though you know it’s still as hot as ever, your mind tries to trick you into thinking it’s actually getting cooler out. Either way, you’re not complaining too much. Compared to the furnace inside the bar, it’s practically winter right now.

“I’d love to come again. And I’m glad you had fun. I think everyone should try going to a session at least once.”

He smiles in return, looking at you for a long moment. Before too long, he asks, “So did those men treat ya alright?” His deeper tenor voice seems to tighten, almost like he hates asking or even thinking about it. He’s not the only one. You were not a fan either.

“Guess so. Little close for comfort, but hey, gotta do whatcha gotta do,” you say, shrugging.

His mouth tilts in contemplation. “Ya looked like you’d done that sorta thing before.”

Your own mouth opens partway, unsure of where this conversation might lead. It would reveal parts of your past that you’d rather keep to yourself. But it’d mean becoming a bit more tight-knit with Tony. Which you don’t really mind, to be honest. You just don’t know how he’d take it. You don’t really know how Sans would take it either. The only one you can trust to understand is Sway. He’s actually been what you’ve been through, if not worse than you. You decide _fuck it_ in the end.

“I have.”

Tony’s brow knits together in confusion while he waits for you to elaborate.

“Was on my own for a long while. Much longer than I care to admit,” you sigh. “Had to do what I had to, to survive.”

Tony is silent for a moment. It’s brief but it feels like eternity, because you find yourself wanting for him to accept what you’ve done, even though it should make no difference to you whether he does or not. It doesn’t seem to matter; whenever a friend thinks ill of you, all you do is feel ill in return. But Tony doesn’t let you. Because he says, “I understand. We all have times of our lives we’re not exactly proud of.” That smoky timbre mellows out, thins out into the roaring of the night-life. “I know I do.” He throws you a small smile, a lifeline really, and it buoys you up and out of the threatening storm of your past. “But we work past it. ‘S all we can do, right?” You nod and your grin grows when he sweeps his left arm out to capture the whole of the glittering, dancing, reveling, _towering_ sky-line of New Ebott. “’Cause we’re _here_. Right now.”

“Damn right, Tony,” you belt out, laughing. “How’d you get so positive? You gotta share.”

He pretends to think, scratching the stubble on his strong jaw. “I dunno. I guess just bein’ out in a great city with a great gal is good enough for me.” You roll your eyes and elbow his side playfully. He just chuckles, rubbing his cheek again, and shoves his hands in his pockets, his eyes training forward. It doesn’t take long to get back to M’s. That great neon pink, purple, and silver sign slides into view, as does a widely grinning skeleton. You smile for two reasons.

One, it’s great to see him again.

And two, of _course_ he’d be right outside once you got back.

“Hey, Sans,” you say as you come up to him. God, you'd really missed him. But you’re not out of the clear yet.

“sweetheart.” Those eye-lights only stay soft as they look over you. When they turn to Tony, they harden and it’s so obvious, that you hear Tony let out a small huff of annoyance. Sans strides up to him. Sans isn’t too short, but Tony is tall. Tall enough to look down at Sans. But that doesn’t seem to bother him very much, if at all. Sans can be, and is, just as imposing. They size each other up and you cross your arms, watching the staring match with cocked brow and an unimpressed purse of your lips.

Then Sans surprises you.

“thanks,” is all he says. Tony just nods. Sans steps back and snakes his arm around your waist. “got it from here, bud.” You roll your eyes and wave back to Tony, throwing him an apologetic smile. He shrugs, grinning now and watches you and Sans disappear into the bar.

As soon as you enter, Sans pulls you flush next to his body and asks, “you ok?”

“Yeah.” Then you smirk and bump his hip with yours. “But you would know that wouldn’t ya?”

He chuckles and his fingers dig wonderful and well-earned tracks into your side. He murmurs, “yeah, i would. and in spite of everything, you did great.”

“Thanks, Sans.” You look at him, thankful to just see his face again. Boy, do you want to kiss the hell out of him, too, but a sour realization stops you dead in your tracks. You groan, “Have to see Gaster again.”

His face falls, but he's just as resolved as you are. He reassures, “in ‘n out. we’ll keep it real short.”

You just nod, steeling yourself for the most likely uncomfortable encounter ahead. Not to mention getting all the information straight in your head. You’re so focused, you don’t even truly realize where you are until you’re walking past those dark, wooden doors that seem to you now as tall as the skyscrapers standing vigilant just outside.

**“Welcome back,”** a shifting voice calls to your attention.

“Thanks,” you say to Gaster without a hint of gratitude.

His chuckle splatters around the room, dripping with amusement. Long, white fingers lace themselves on his desk while his cold eyes look you over. The scrutiny makes your own hands itch and fidget in your pockets. You’re all too aware of the gun and knife strapped to your thigh now. A disturbingly composed part of you wants to see if your bullet would pass right through Gaster’s thin body at all, or if the gluttonous darkness he seems to be composed of would swallow it hole, just as it does any happiness or comfort. But as you feel Sans’ hand softly skirt the small of your back for a very brief moment, that urge shreds away and all that’s left is the anxiety you feel whenever you’re in the shifty monster’s presence.

**“So were you successful tonight, ___?”** Gaster asks. His chair squeaks, the sound falling lifeless in the dead air. It’s almost suffocating.

“Guess you’ll have to be the judge of that,” you retort. Gaster just smiles and gestures for you to continue. You bolster your confidence before you begin. “Talked to three guys who seem to be involved with _M_ and, I’m guessing, your problem here. Sal, Joe, and Manny. Manny’s the one who came in here earlier. But they get their shit through the New Tartaglias.” Neither Gaster nor Sans say anything, just listening. You wrack your brain. “Deal with either the Barber or a fella named Lukas I think.”

**“Anything else?”**

“They said _M_ gives people powers? Whatever that means,” you add.

Sans speaks up now, musing out loud, “could explain how they’re able to slip in ‘n out unnoticed.”

**“Indeed,”** Gaster mutters. **“Who does the Barber get it from?”**

Your brow creases. “No idea. They didn’t say. Don’t think the Barber would share that kind of information with them anyway.”

**“I guessed as much. One can hope,”** he sighs with a heavy exhale as he stands up from his expansive desk. He seems to glide around the wooden behemoth and you hate that you feel intimidated. Sans adjusts his weight, shifting from one foot to the other. You don’t miss that he’s moved in front of you to a small degree, almost like he’s intercepting Gaster on his way over. He stops just short of you both. **“Good job tonight. You have proven yourself very capable. I may have need of your talents later. But for now, do not worry. You are safe,”** he says with a hint of a tease. He knew exactly what concerned you. You shouldn’t even have to worry about it at all, considering this whole spy bullshit was never in the initial agreement. But there’s no way you can fight him about this. He literally holds the keys to you living here safely and securely. **“You may go. I must talk to Sans,”** Gaster says, all business once again. You rip your eyes from his split face to glance at Sans. He gives you an almost imperceptible nod. You step away and exit the office, closing the door with a relieved sigh.

~~~~~

“what’d ya need to chat ‘bout, w.d.? got a job to do ya know,” Sans says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

**“I wasn’t aware your job entailed disobeying me,”** Gaster answers, crackling voice flat, a monotone ripple. But underneath lies the fangs of sharp displeasure. It puts Sans on edge. He’s a bit surprised Gaster knew he followed you, though he feels he shouldn’t be. The ancient monster really does have eyes seemingly everywhere.

“don’t know whatcha mean,” Sans evades, feigning disinterested ignorance.

Gaster’s long, clawed hand snaps out, almost losing its shape it’s so quick. He snags the front of Sans’ shirt and jerks him up and forward. A growl rips its way out of Sans’ chest while his hands close around the bleached vice.

**“ _DO NOT LIE TO ME!_ ” **Gaster thunders in his face. Sans grimaces from the shadows that explode in the room from the very corners, the screeching roar that seems to scrape the inside of his skull, the reek of ozone acrid and burning. The air surges and roils for a long moment before the darkness shrinks, the sound diminishing. Gaster composes himself and a small, unamused smile cracks his face further.

**“It is very unbecoming of you, Sans.”** Sans says nothing, just shoots daggers up at Gaster. **“I realize you care about ___. But do not think that allows for insubordination. I will not have it. They are not special, they are not family, they are not _the_ Family.”**

Sans looses a strained chuckle. “you’re wrong.”

A cracked brow and corner of Gaster’s mouth raises, amused at Sans’ disagreement. **“I _almost_ have the urge to ask why, but it doesn’t matter. I do not care. Do _not_ disobey me again.”**

“heh, is all i get a slap on the wrist? almost feel disappointed,” Sans goads derisively. He's probably pushing it, but Sans couldn't care less if he got down on his knees and begged for it.

Gaster drops him, causing Sans to stumble to regain his footing and balance. **“Do not fool yourself. If you were any other monster, I would have dusted you long ago.”** Sans’ gaze narrows. **“But for some reasons even I am not sure of, I have refrained. Count yourself lucky.”**

“what reasons then?” Sans demands, straightening his shirt and tie. _He_ feels like dusting Gaster right now.

**“If it were not for your usefulness, our brother, or our kinship then rest assured, you would find rest.”**

Sans snorts. “you’re right, i feel _so_ lucky. thanks for deigning to not kill me ‘cause i’m your brother.”

**“Don’t test me. And don’t let it happen again.”** Gaster’s eye-lights dim and reflect the cold, hollow lights manifesting in Sans’ own sockets. For, perhaps, the first time in both of their lives, they might have been confused as brothers.

“fine. _boss_.”

Sans turns on his heel and stalks to the tall doors, not bothering to wait for a response, sarcastic or otherwise. He steps out, slamming the door behind him. He stands for a moment, drowning in his thoughts and anger, fists shoved deep into his pockets, glaring a hole into the opposite wall. Why does that two-faced prick pick now of all times to call him out on shit? It’s not like he hasn’t ‘disobeyed’ Gaster before. Sans likes to call it ‘elective refusal’ instead. And where the hell does Gaster get off on pretending to be something he’s not? He’s not their father. Sometimes, as far as Sans is concerned, he’s not really even their brother at all. Brothers shouldn’t treat each other that way. Shouldn’t threaten to kill the other, shouldn’t be the only reason to not do so. Brothers should be the way Papyrus treats Sans. The way Sans hopes he always treats Papyrus in return. You know…actually give a shit about one another. He could have just said he was following you to ensure the information was secured. He doesn’t know why he didn’t. Too caught up in imagining ways to beat the hell out of Gaster’s already-cracked face maybe.

His resentment ebbs for a moment as he thinks. He probably blew his cover as far as your and his relationship goes. He doesn’t dwell too long on that though, shoving the now-worthless worry into a corner. Gaster may be a no-good, arrogant asshat, but Sans will, begrudgingly, admit he’s smart and perceptive. He’s sure he already knew. Sans’ mouth curls in a bitter sneer. That might be why Gaster has been so keen on making you uncomfortable. He’s not sure whether that makes him even more outraged or less surprised. He takes a deep breath, desperate to expel the sharp thoughts cascading through his mind. Once he’s composed himself somewhat, he turns.

Only to find you propped up against the wall with your arms crossed and your face filled to the brim with concern and questions.

“So Gaster’s your brother?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOw, feel like I haven't posted in forever (it's prolly 'cause I haven't). I'm sorry about that! Chapters for both'll get done, don'tchuworry. Might just take a bit longer after everything that's been going on.
> 
> Keep being awesome and thanks for your always ongoing support, my duckies <3
> 
> Mob Boss' tumblr: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	39. It's a Sin to Tell a Lie

Sans thinks that if he had a heart, it might’ve skipped a beat. Or a few. It’s not like it’s a question or a part of his life he’s specifically avoiding. It’s just never come up and it doesn’t really concern anyone but him and Papyrus at this point. It’s not exactly a secret either; just the fact that they’re the only three skeleton monsters around should say something. Regardless, he feels found out.

“how much did you hear?”

You snort, with a small smirk lifting lips that never cease to distract Sans. “’What didn’t I hear?’ might be a better question. You weren’t exactly quiet.”

“yeah, well i guess ya know why,” he concedes.

You step closer and weave your arm around his, leading him away from the office. “You ok?” you ask. You’re concerned. When you basically said you heard everything, you meant everything. From what you could tell Sans put on a very angry, but brave face in front of Gaster’s ire. You hate that he got in trouble, was threatened even. And even less that it was because of you. It sure as hell makes you hate Gaster more.

His other bony hand grasps yours, warm and cool all at once. “yeah, thanks sweetheart. nothin’ i can’t handle.”

“I’m sorry I caused that,” you say. You have to get that out of your heart now, or it will chew you up and spit you back out, no questions asked.

“nah, no sweat. like i said, nothin’ i can’t handle. ‘s not like it’s the first time,” he responds with a roguish grin.

“Does he get mad like that often?” you ask.

“not really. only if ya break the rules or ‘disobey’ him,” he sneers with a roll of his eyes. Then he looks over to you, winking as he does so. “but rules are for chumps.”

You laugh and tease, “Ooh, can I quote you on that, sir?”

“ya call me sir again and you can quote me for anythin’ ya want, sweetheart,” he shoots right back. You think there might be some truth in his words, but from the soft way he’s staring at you, you know he’s offering you more than that. You’re so tempted to take it too.

You look down at your intertwining fingers. “You know, I won’t ask you about Gaster if you don’t wanna talk about it. But just know that you can, if you ever do.” All the laughter is gone from your voice. Only quiet. Only kindness. Only understanding.

Sans feels it all. And he’s incredibly thankful for it.

“c’mon,” he urges gently, leading you up the stairs, through his front door and into his room.

As Sans’ mouth grazes your own…as his rough hands exert a gentleness you didn’t think capable, considering the kinds of things those hands have done, you start to lose yourself. Lose yourself in the possibilities. In the present; in the future. His touches spell it out for you. Yours answer. It’s a tunneling of your vision, but one that expands outward so far into the horizon, you can’t see the end. Like when the sun lights up the windows of the skyscrapers and you’re not sure if the passionate colors stop at the glassy surface or go on for infinity, repeating endlessly. It’s a vision rarely seen but deeply felt.

You forget. Forget Gaster. Forget threats. Forget jobs and drugs and pasts.

Forget danger.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Go huntin’ today, Lukas?”

“Yes sir. Caught myself a rat.”

“What’d this rat do?”

“Sticking his nose vhere it does not belong. Letting things slip.”

“…But of that, I’m sure you already knew.”

**A pause.**

“Is he taken care of?”

“I leave him to you, sir.”

“Oh, goody.”

**_Ssssschink, ssssschink, ssssschink_ **

“Sir?”

“Hmm?”

“Forgive me, but you shouldn’t vait any longer.”

“I know what I’m doin’. _Mo_ _ther_.”

**A chuckle.**

“Can’t be too hasty with these things.”

“The time’s gotta be _just_ right.”

“And do you think it’s time?”

“….”

“I believe it is.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Sway tips back his coffee, feeling the scalding brew travel down his throat, lighting the center of him on fire and waking him the hell up.

“That’s good stuff,” he sighs with a satisfied smack of his lips. He holds out the mug to B.P., his nod for another accompanied by a crafty and sweet smirk. “Thanks, cool cat.”

“Yeah, yeah,” B.P. says, turning to get back to other customers. But not without a hint of a grin in the ginger fur of his face. A grin that Sway could not miss if his life depended on it. He eats it up like breakfast.

“To the joe!” Sway crows as he turns on his heel, holding the mug aloft as if it were the Queen of Sheba herself.

“It’s three in the afternoon, Sway,” B.P. retorts.

Sway just throws the cat monster a thumbs up while cackling. He spies some fellas heading into the Boss’ office, but he’s too far away to catch exactly who. He does see the burning crimson remnants of Undyne’s hair twist behind the door, so he writes it off as business as usual. His mind instead wanders to what you’ve been up to. Knowing you, either trouble or something very fun. Sway isn’t exactly sure of the distinction, but he usually crosses that bridge when he comes to it. He’d rather look ahead than down at his feet. He does know one thing though.

He’s sure to find you in the skeleton’s suite.

He strolls up to the weathered door and his knuckles cause a wondrous racket in the quiet halls. The rapping keeps going and so does the pinging and echoing. Sway’s grin stretches wider and wider across his face with every sharp tap, until he has to fight it to get a decent pull from his coffee cup.

Then the door flies open to reveal an amusingly frustrated and grumpy-looking skeleton.

If Sway were anyone else, he’d be feeling the extent of Sans’ displeasure. As it is, he rocks to one side, cocking his hip and his smile to boot.

“Why good mornin’, sleepyhead,” Sway drawls.

“sway,” Sans grinds through his teeth in a half-assed greeting.

“Hi Sway!” a tired voice shouts from inside the depths of the apartment. Both man and monster soften at the sound of you. Sans crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe, relaxing now that the abrupt and rude awakening is over.

“Hey chickadee! Ain’t seen ya for a bit, c’mon outta there and give this beautiful man a hug!” Sway calls with cheer in his rasping tenor. He hears you chuckle and then you’re walking up, dressed in what he assumes to be Sans’ clothes, smiling soft and kind as you rub the sleep from your eyes. The sight tugs at his well-worn heart. You’ve wriggled your way into his life as surely as a fish to water. Feeling for all the world like family to him. If he thinks hard enough on it, there’s probably very few things he wouldn’t do for you.

He might not know it, but you feel the same about him.

You step up and wrap your arms around his lanky middle, squeezing him tight. He hugs you right back tenfold. “There, a hug for a beautiful beanpole,” you say.

Sway grins down at you, ruffling and pushing back your messy hair. You smile up at him, genuine delight in your eyes. “As a magnolia in May,” he says. A pair of curious and pleased eye-lights watch the deceptively honest exchange. Sway breaks the silence with a bark of laughter when you take his mug and a share of the coffee in one swift sip.

“Get yourself on up and get your own coffee, chickadee!” he scolds as he grins, taking back his mug. You laugh and wipe the small trickle of brown liquid from your lips and chin.

“Fine, fine,” you chuckle. You turn to Sans now. “Coffee?”

He nods, his grin melting you. “coffee.”

“Wanna join?” you ask Sway.

He holds up his hand and shakes his hand, an apologetic smile cracking his face. “Nah, got some stuff to take care of. But I’ll be seein’ ya later.” He loops a long arm around your neck and hugs you close, placing a quick kiss to the top of your head before releasing you. He salutes you both.

“Bye Sway,” you say, waving as he walks off. You watch him for a long moment, examining a swagger so lazy it rivals Sans’. But in such a different way. Carefree, effortless, and unguarded. Not quite top of the food chain, but so removed from it he still has no natural enemies. Strolling through life with little to no obstacles. Your brow furrows. But then it smoothes when you feel Sans’ hand lay on the small of your back.

“let’s get dressed, sweetheart.”

You turn to him and press your lips to his mouth in a sudden movement. He makes a surprised grunt deep in his chest, but both of his hands move to tighten around your body. A body he kept so close to him, into the early morning hours. Your own rest on those round cheekbones of his. Cheekbones you traced over and over again with your fingers and lips as you both fell asleep. Neither of you will get tired of the way flesh pulls along bone and bone slides against flesh. Cheeks flush and beats skip.

Deep enough to make you both gasp.

_What the hell…?_

_i wonder if they…?_

Sans’ hand rises to grasp your chin tenderly. He kisses you once more, eye-lights searching your face for a fascinating minute. He grins and you mirror it.

“ _now_ let’s get dressed.”

You and Sans finally make it down to the bar, even though you wish you could just spend the rest of the day in his bed, if not the rest of your life. B.P. pours you both a couple of mugs of coffee and Sans lifts his to you. You toast it with a dull clink and savor the taste as it forces you more awake.

Sans crooks his finger to you, his eye-lights glinting playfully. "c'mere."

You chuckle and set down your mug to bend toward him, placing your hand on his leg and balancing yourself. You turn your face, presenting your upturned cheek. His laughs rumble out and your chest starts to burn when his hand rests on top of yours. But then he grabs your hand and tugs you forward. Now it’s your turn to make a startled sound as you fall onto him. You’re cut off when your lips land against his teeth, his mouth catching yours as surely as his arms do. Lightning strikes through you, all the way from your lips to something deep down inside you. You’re on fire, but you don’t want to put it out. His arms hold you steady and you don’t stop yourself from moving, from feeling. The force of his rumbles increase and his fingers tighten. It’s only for several moments, but it feels like a lifetime, and when you pull back, your lips slide and you open your eyes to a very satisfied and equally affected-looking skeleton. His pupils are gleaming and vivid as they stare into yours.

You’re about to say something when Undyne steps up to you both. You straighten and catch her look. It’s grim. Every good thought you had in the brief moment before disappears as a mysterious, anxious dread fills you. Sans’ brow creases in annoyance.

“what’s up? kinda in the middle of somethin’ here.” he says, eyes flicking pointedly to you.

Undyne isn’t in any mood for games. “W.D. wants all of us in his office. Including them.” She inclines her head to you.

“Why?”

She grits her teeth and steps back. “You’ll see.”

You and Sans share a concerned look and you follow them as they lead the way to Gaster’s office.

Sans tries to get something out of her, asking, “what’s going on undyne?”

All she says is, “Nothing good.”

The three of you step inside and the door shuts with a resounding finality. You see Gaster and Papyrus standing near his desk. Papyrus looks upset, but Gaster is focused and calculating as he studies the other person in the room. It’s a man. A man you recognize. Your eyes shoot wide in confusion as well as Sans’. His hand comes up to rest inside his jacket.

“ _Tony_?”

Tony turns, relaxed smile on his face, hazel eyes lighting up as he sees you. “Hey, ___.”

You want to pretend everything is ok. You want to make light of this, laugh about it later over a fucking strong glass of whiskey. But the pressure from the tension in the room is suffocating, straining against your rational thought. “What are you doing here?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but is cut off by a deathly unamused and vexed Gaster.

The sarcasm drips viscous and vicious. **“What a reunion. How nice. However, would you like to tell them your real name?”** He sweeps his hand out to you.

Your confusion only mounts as Tony turns back to you, sighing. “It’s James.”

“…James?”

Gaster’s voice lowers, raking out with bared teeth and claws, **“Don’t play _coy_ , _Jimmy_.”**

_Jimmy_.

The word bounces around your head, repeating a thousand times, and you’re not sure what to do with it. It refuses to have any meaning in your mind. It’s so out of reach that your heart plummets to depths you didn’t realize existed and all of the blood seems to leave your body. Your knees weaken as you struggle to draw breath. Your hand fumbles, catching onto Sans’ jacket. You’re only vaguely aware of him stiffening under you.

You whisper, voice cracking, “J-Jimmy….”

Gaster continues, **“Yes. Jimmy. The Barber.”**

Tony—no, _Jimmy—_ just stands there, looking put out, sweeping a hand through his black hair.

“Now I didn’t really ask for that nickname."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been planning this for /months/.
> 
> Tumblr: ollyolloxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	40. It Had to Be You

Sans’ arm thrusts out, pushing you behind him at the same time he pulls out his gun and trains it on Jimmy. His eye is blazing as he snarls, “you _rotten_ son of a bitch!"

**"Sans!"**

Sans hardly hears Gaster. As it is, he can barely even think, such is the whipping roar of his magic in his skull. But something sinister and promising in Gaster's voice gives him pause. Just enough to not paint the room. He continues, "give me one good reason why i shouldn’t put a bullet between your eyes right now.”

Jimmy stares down Sans, down the barrel of that gun, hazel eyes hardening into brown-green crystals. “Because I’m here with a deal. My death won’t solve anything you know.”

**“He is right, Sans. Put down your weapon.”** Gaster’s voice slides, but the end is barbed with a sharp command.

Sans is dead silent for a moment before he growls and holsters his gun. He doesn’t move from his place in front of you though. Your fingers tighten around his arm. _He’s_ here. And you’ve been chatting, hanging out with him like friends this whole fucking time. You genuinely thought you were _friends_. What the fuck? This is so messed up; you feel like you’re going to be sick, your stomach rolling like a freighter in a hurricane. But a slinking yet intense rage sets in right alongside the shock. That he’d even _think_ of showing his face around here is unbelievable. Why is he _here_?

**“Would you repeat your deal, Jimmy.”**

Jimmy sticks his hands in his pockets as he bounces on the balls of his feet, definitely not looking like he’s in the middle of the lion’s den. “So you’ve been having a lotta trouble at your warehouses, huh?”

It’s Papyrus who speaks up now, voice both sad and full of disgust. “You have killed a lot of people.”

Jimmy’s face falls somewhat as he nods, contemplative look finding its way into the mix. “Exactly. And I was thinkin’, if you just give me what I want, I’ll give you what you want, yeah?”

“what could you possibly want that you haven’t already taken?” Sans grinds out, demanding.

Jimmy huffs out a laugh, his face softening. His eyes turn to you with purpose.

“I’m lookin’ at ‘em.”

_Oh, god…no…._

You pale and feel the world tilt underneath and all around you, hand squeezing Sans’ arm. Undyne and Papyrus look at each other then you, yellow and white eyes blazing with shock. Sans bristles, a thick rumbling growing in his chest.

“ _n o_.”

**“And in return?”** Your head whips to Gaster, but he doesn’t look at you. How can he possibly even be considering this? Your heart is racing in your chest, your anger and fear rising.

“I’d leave your stores be.”

Gaster’s lip curls as he walks around the room. **“Hardly fair. We know you have a supplier of _M._ What’s to say you won’t do it again? _I_ _want that name_.”**

Jimmy shrugs, shifting his weight. “I guess you don’t.” He raises his hand, rubbing his beard, then pointing to Gaster. “But, think about this. If you don’t accept, I’m still gonna do it. Now, out of _all_ the rumors I’m sure you’ve heard about me, has one ever been about me going back on my word?” Gaster stands stoic and quiet as he reasons through every possibility. His mind ticks. Jimmy continues, placing his hand over his chest, “But I’m sure you can understand why I can’t just give that name away. They’d be dead before dinner.”

Sans growls, “that’s the fucking _point_.”

**“Sans, shut up.”**

Sans steps forward and you let go of him, still recovering from the tremors of this fucked up earthquake. Everything is turning red, your hatred filling you.

“no! why are we even talking about this?”

He’s about to go for Gaster, his rage like a rising tide, when you push him to the side, striding over to Jimmy yourself. His eyes widen, hands coming up as you reel back and land your fist against his jaw with a crack. He stumbles backward against the chair and you’re about to go for him again, but you’re held back by Undyne.

“Calm down, ___!” she whispers sharply to you.

You ignore her and struggle against the steel grip, yelling viciously, “Fuck you! I’m _not_ a thing to be _traded_!” Jimmy lets out a surprised laugh, wiping the blood from his lip.

“Wow…guess that’s another reason why I like ya so much.”

You jerk your arms out of Undyne’s hands with a growl, utterly repulsed, tears finding their way down your face. You point to Gaster, not even looking at Sans’ dismayed face. “And how _dare_ you, you rat bastard! Sans is right, how are you even fucking considering this?”

Gaster’s body snaps over to you, his jacket flapping from the sudden, hidden force, his anger getting the better of him. He stares you down with a scathing glare. **“Because this _trade_ —you—could potentially save many lives. _That’s_ why I’m considering it. You are but one life against many.” **

You don’t respond, tears slipping steady and silent, feeling like your hands are in a bind. You can’t help but be certain that your heart is dying, too. The last thing in the world you want is for people to suffer because of you. But does it come at the cost of your soul? To be given against your will to the man who was involved in your parent’s deaths? God, how selfish must you be? Your hands clench and you hug your arms around yourself as you look to Sans, desperate for a way out. He’s furious and distraught as he listens. He can’t lose you. Not to _him_. Not to anyone.

And in one infinite moment, Gaster extends his hand out to Jimmy.

Sans roars, “ _n o!_ ” and his arm raises almost of its own volition, his eye blazing to life, flames licking his skull with vicious intent. His magic grabs Jimmy’s soul, forcing it _down_. Jimmy drops to his knees as a blue glow starts to envelope him, groaning and twisting in pain, black hair covering his face. He wants Jimmy to disappear, never return to waking life. He knows exactly what could help make that happen. A metallic whirring rumbles out in the room, rending _something_ apart. It's like dynamite in the very air. More foreboding and malevolent than any sound you’ve heard Gaster make. Called by rage. You cringe, aghast at the horrific noise. Undyne’s hands grip your shoulders, holding you close.

Gaster whirls around and grabs Sans’ hand. A deep purple shadow, almost black and indeterminate in its depth, covers Sans’ arm. He gasps and wrenches in Gaster’s grip, the flames of his eye sputtering out as well as that sound from Hell itself. Gaster leans down to him, face calm but eyes flashing a dire warning.

He whispers to him, so low that only Sans can hear, **“Keep it up and you won’t ever see them again. Patience, Sans.”** Sans glowers up at Gaster with sockets lidded in pain. His mind races.  _What is he pulling?_

Whatever Gaster did disrupted Sans’ magic, releasing its hold on Jimmy. He stands, none too shaky, breathing heavily but with a faint awestruck smile on his face. The cloud retreats from Sans’ arm, causing him to slump. Papyrus rushes to hold him up. You move to go to him as well but when Gaster turns back to Jimmy, extending his hand once more, you freeze along with the blood in your veins. Jimmy straightens himself and takes hold of the long, proffered hand.

**“We have a deal then.”** He bends down to Jimmy, and the shadows around him spread to encompass the entire room, rippling and leeching any light it can get its tendrils on. His voice deepens, rolling like a train through the room. **“But know this. I know what you look like now. Should you go back on your word and I find any indication of such, there will be no where you can hide.”** Jimmy’s eyes widen, but he recovers with his usual finesse.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

You just stare in disbelief, fear curdling your blood. You start shaking, feeling faint. Undyne lets you go when you turn, hand finding the cool hard wood of the door. Your other hand comes up to your face. Sweat, cold, numb. Trembling fingers dig into your scalp. This can’t be happening. It’s just a fucking nightmare right? You’ll wake up in only a moment, as soon as you open your eyes. Open, openopenopen. You almost don’t even feel or notice the hard bones of Sans’ hands curl around your shoulders. You look over to him, eyes quickly losing any hope you might have had.

You whisper, voice hoarse. “I don’t want to go.” The lights of his eyes flicker in pain at the sound of your voice, no trace of a grin on his face.

He responds, voice lowered so only you can hear. “i know. i don’t want you to go either.” He squeezes your shoulders. “but w.d. is planning something. i’ll come back for you. i _promise_.” Tears fall once more as you choke back a sob. He pulls you into a fierce hug, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other wrapped around your waist. You cry, heart and soul tearing in half. It’ll be a miracle if you get out alive. You can’t think ahead, because it almost feels like you have no future anymore. So you just focus on Sans, burying your head against his neck. Memorizing and lamenting the almost laughably short amount of time spent together. It’s cruel. Cruel that you won’t be wrapped in that pine scent anymore, cruel that you’re being taken from your home, cruel that the man who was most likely responsible for your parent’s deaths is the one to do it. Your mind tries to shut down, wants it desperately. But all of it is so _clear_ and _poignant_.   

It’s not lost on Sans either. He could safely say that he feels like he’s dying. His soul is ripping at the same time it’s being stitched back together by a white-hot fury. But he meant every word he said or the Devil take him. He’s going back for you. It’s not an option for him to sit idly by. He opens his eyes to glare at Gaster, who looks on, disinterested. They move to Jimmy next. If looks could kill, Jimmy would be obliterated. He feels his pupils disappear. All of Jimmy's attention is on him and you, annoyance on his face. But his eyes are bright with victory. Sans can only hope they get you out of there before anything happens. He shudders, his anger rising once more at the thought of this bastard’s hands on you.

Jimmy walks across the room to you and Sans, hands in his pockets. He asks, “Did you want to bring anything with you? You’ll have everything you need over there, but I thought I’d offer.” You don’t respond for a moment while you think.

Instead you whisper to Sans, “Keep my flute safe. Bring my knife, knuckles, and gun later.” He nods slightly. You pull away, both yours and Sans’ arms reluctant to let go. You turn to Jimmy, voice listless. “No.” His face falls the slightest bit, but he quickly regains his composure, shrugging.

He says, cheerfully, “ _Andiamo_ , then.” He reaches for your hand, but you snatch it away, glaring. Sans growls behind you. He chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender. He opens the door, waiting outside for you to follow. Gaster comes up behind you, ushering you out next. You’re not sure who you hate more, the murderer or the monster. As it is, it’s almost impossible to distinguish which is which. Gaster leads the way, you and Jimmy behind, Papyrus, Sans and Undyne bringing up the rear. You all walk through the halls, completely silent, the only sound the shuffling of shoes and clicking of heels. You enter the still crowded parlor and Gaster’s tall form parts the crowds with ease, heading to the front. No one seems to notice a thing. You step out into the clear, cool night air. You would find it pleasant and calming normally, but it’s only a reminder that you’re on your way somewhere you never wanted to go. There’s a car waiting. Jimmy opens the door for you.

You stop, saying, “Let me fucking say bye at least.” You bristle when he laughs and nods.

You turn and are immediately lifted by Papyrus and Undyne. You start crying again, can hardly force the words from your mouth. “Goodbye….”

“Do not worry, friend. You will be alright.”

Undyne nods, whispering to you. “We’re gonna get you outta there, no worries.”

They set you down and you focus once more on Sans. You throw your arms around his shoulders, gripping them tight. He holds you to him just as strong. When you pull back, his hands rise to rest on either side of your face, thumbs wiping the tears from your cheeks. His eyes bore into yours with an intense gaze. He starts to lean in to kiss you, but you’re jerked away by a powerful hand. You glare up at a severe Jimmy. Sans is growling, locked onto him, hands balled into cracking fists.

“C’mon, ___,” he says, tone soft to you, eyes hard to Sans.

You’re led away, ushered into the back of the car. Jimmy crawls in after you. You sit as far away from him as you can, turning to look out the back window. The sight claws at your heart. You cry even more when you realize you didn’t get to say bye to Sway. You bite your knuckle, eyesight blurring.

Jimmy says to the driver, “Let’s go home.”

You hurriedly wipe your eyes so you can watch Sans and the others as you pull away. Once again, your family is being taken, ripped from you, by the same man no less. What a fucking world.

Sans watches the car pull away. It’s like a part of his soul is leaving too. They all just stand in tense stillness, the car becoming smaller and smaller down the road. Gaster breaks the smothering quiet.

**“Follow them.”**

Sans disappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy's, like, the best guy, right?
> 
> <3
> 
> Tumblr: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com


	41. Somebody Stole My Gal

You sit, silent, staring out the window. Wan, bloodshot eyes doing their job, but only in theory; like it's the end of a lineman's long shift where he's already looking forward to the weekend. Your hands are balled in your lap. Taut, ready, waiting. The knuckles of your right hand start to throb, providing a nice touch to your pain. It’s the cherry on top of the shit sundae you’ve just been served. You feel a pair of sharper eyes on you, but you don’t care. You feel like you don’t care about much of anything anymore.

“You may not like the idea now, but…just give it a chance.” His voice is hopeful. You’re stunned, almost to silence. You turn your head to look at him, brow drawn severely. Jimmy's hazel eyes are just as hopeful as his tone.

Your answering hiss might have been threatening, even malevolent, if it weren’t so incredulous. “Are you _kidding_? You just traded me like cattle. Blackmailed me so others wouldn’t die. You lied about who you were.” _As if that’s the least horrible thing you’ve ever done, prick_ , you think.

He rubs his cheek as he defends himself. “Now, I technically didn’t lie to you about who I am. My middle name is Anthony.”

“Don’t split hairs. Who you are and what you’re called are two very different things, _Jimmy the Barber_ ,” you accuse.

A faint smile lifts his lips as he looks out the window, sighing, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

You don’t speak. That is, until you warn without thinking, “These violent delights have violent ends.” He turns to stare at you now, those hazel eyes lighting up. You roll your eyes and lean against the window to hold up your throbbing head. You wish you had just kept silent. Grillby always did say you had a big mouth. Grillby…. He’s gonna be Hell on Earth when he finds out what happened.

“O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek.” You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He’s still looking at you, a certain buoyant excitement in his eyes.

You huff. “You do know how it ends right?”

He shrugs, chuckling. “Yeah. Still good though.”

You go back to looking out the window. The buildings pass by in a dark blur, a black wash with the moon shining right on through. You should have paid more attention to where you’re heading. It didn’t even cross your mind until now. _Shit._ You rub your stinging and exhausted eyes.

Jimmy speaks up again. “I know you’re not gonna believe whatever I say to try and defend myself. But I am sorry. I didn’t mean for you to be treated like that. I do care about you.”

Your anger lashes out now, as do your words. Sharp. Unforgiving. “If you didn’t mean for me to be treated like that, then why did you treat me like that?!” Jimmy just watches, but something about his posture says he has much more to add to that argument. Your hand drags down your face. “And secondly, care about me? You don’t even know me.”

He speaks up, still calm even after your outburst. “I do though. You’ve told me. And I’d know more if you’d let me.” You stay silent, not willing to even go down this road. Not tonight. And probably not any night in the future.

It’s not long after he’s stopped talking that the car pulls up to a large building. It’s massive, towering thirty stories at least, glittering and basking in the glow of the city’s night-life. You can barely count all of the windows. As far as it extends up, its warped, metallic back pushes out upon the wharf and the bustling, ever-flowing river just beyond. A hulking behemoth of a structure, its adjoining warehouse a gross infection with a painted face. Just how much influence do the Tartaglias have? And how powerful _is_ Jimmy? He’s obviously made a name for himself, if not already having an important one in the first place. You try to push away your despair for the moment; might as well get some answers while you’re here.

“Are you a Tartaglia?”

He smiles, looking back at you as he steps out of the car. He holds his hand out to you, but you ignore it, grabbing onto the frame of the door. He chuckles, saying, “You’re gonna let me hold your hand one of these days.”

“Keep dreaming,” you retort as you step out of the car.

He steps close to you, still smiling casually. “Are you sure that we are awake? It seems to me that yet we sleep, we dream.”

You cross your arms, keeping your hands close to you in case he tries anything. “You speak an infinite deal of nothing.”

His arm comes up to rest on the small of your back as he leads you to the building. “It’s so refreshing to have someone else who knows or even cares about Old Billy Shakes.”

You cringe internally at the feeling of his hand on your back, but you bite it down for now. “Maybe you should find another line of work, then.”

“Nah. I’m pretty useless otherwise.”

You don’t respond as you step inside.

Your foot falters while your breath is taken.

Crystal chandeliers line the expansive hallways and towering atrium. Geometric tiles in multi-hued marble divide up the sturdy architecture into a beautiful myriad display. People from all walks of life mill about. Rich, middle-class, young, old, city-dwellers, country-folk; their voices rising to a ringing clamor in the lofty hall, excited to be in this sort of place, far from their troubles. Just your rotten luck, this is where all your troubles start for you. You hate to admit it in light of everything…but the sight really is something, alright. The spell is broken when Jimmy steers you to a side door, waving to passersby as he goes. When you enter, the grand façade fades into the dull, dim belly of the warehouse. The regular people of before are replaced by some mean-looking bastards who’d kill ya as soon as look atcha, barring you don’t have what they’re lookin’ for. You’re immediately set on alert, your nerves spiking.

“James Anthony Tartaglia, then,” you breathe.

He leans down to murmur in your ear, “That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

At least you have that now. _What’s in a name?_ Jimmy’s voice echoes. Please, this whole world is made of names. Hell, the city’s built on ‘em. And if Gaster or Jimmy are any indication, it’s obvious how much power a name holds.

You pass a lot of men and women drinking or playing pool, their faces a sea of surprise, excitement, and knowing looks. Some whistle and clap Jimmy on the back. Your lip curls in disdain, your ire rising almost as much as the bile in your throat. You’re not a prize to be won. However, a man steps out from among the crowd, his face a mask of rage. You pale and stop short.

It’s the man from Grillby’s.

The one who fucking started it all.

Jimmy looks down to you, confused. The man stalks up to you and Jimmy finally notices, turning toward him with a concerned expression. The man jabs his finger at you, his voice dripping with hatred. “What’s this bitch doing here?”

Jimmy holds up his hands, concern quickly turning to anger. “Hey, now. Watch your mouth, Frankie.” The man—Frankie—backs off a bit, but is still incensed.

“They almost killed me!”

Jimmy turns to you now, disbelief coloring his eyes. “They’re the one that shot ya?” Frankie scowls. Jimmy bursts into laughter, doubling over, practically crying. Some of the others follow his lead. You don’t laugh because you’re still watching Frankie. If anything, he just gets angrier. _Not good_.

“Now I really know you can handle yourself! Shoot….”

Frankie spits out, “I want them dead. You can’t just let ‘em stay here!”

Jimmy straightens up to his full height now, his hazel eyes becoming steely as he advances toward Frankie. Frankie pales and takes a step back. Jimmy’s voice is low and full of authority when he responds, “I think I can do whatever I want, Frankie. You’d do well to remember that. You don’t touch ‘em, ya hear me?” Frankie doesn’t say anything for a moment, reproach lining his face. Jimmy’s hand snaps out, grabbing his collar and dragging him forward with brute strength. “What did I _say_?” he barks out.

Frankie holds up his hands, looking away. “Don’t touch ‘em, I _got_ it.”

“Good,” Jimmy says cheerfully.

He lets Frankie go, who scurries away, but not before shooting you a glare that screams he’s not done with you. You really hope Sans comes soon, preferably with your weapons. Jimmy comes back beside you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders now. You don’t shrug it off though. It’s not saying much, but at least you know Jimmy here. And if he’s going to be your only source of protection, it would be stupid to shun it right now. Jimmy grins down at you, right chuffed that you’re accepting the contact. You sigh internally. He leads you out of the room, but not before yelling over his shoulder, “Hey Lukas, come with us, will ya?”

You look behind you and see a huge bear of a man with an eyepatch over his right eye come out of the woodwork to follow you and Jimmy. All three of you step into an elevator. He presses a button for the seventh floor and says, “Lukas, I want ya to meet ___. ___, this is Lukas, my right-hand man.” The dark-haired, bearded man tips his duffer, one corner of his mouth lifting in a smile. You give a small wave more out of habit than anything else. Maybe because you don't want to piss off more than you can handle (and Lukas certainly is), but mostly because there just ain't no use in tellin' someone to go to hell who's already on their way there.

He says, voice gravelly, “Nice to meet you,” in a thick, warring accent, at once touched by the city and yearning to go back to the homeland, wherever that is to him.

“You too,” you lie, distrustful. He may  _seem_  alright enough. His eye gives the impression of kindness. But you can’t help but wonder how much of a part he’s played in this whole shitshow. So many unknowns have only made you more anxious than you ever wanted to be.

“Lukas, I’d like you to make sure ___ stays safe when I’m gone, alright? Frankie talks a lot, but I’d rather not take any chances.”

“Yes, sir.”

You look at the floor. A sliver of gratitude slips through your guarded front lines, your previous feelings betraying you, no matter how much you hate it. Why does he care so fucking much? 

Jimmy smiles at Lukas, voice full and appreciative. “Thank you.” He taps his chin as he adds, “Oh, did you find what you were lookin’ for?”

“Yes. A little worse for vear, but most still live.”

“Most?” Jimmy asks. His voice is pitched in a way that makes it hard for you to pick apart. Concern? Anger? You keep listening intently.

“Jack vas…absent.” Lukas’ voice, like his stature, is stoic, solid, held firm by the weight of his words. Your eyes turn to Jimmy. His hazel ones narrow and he clenches his jaw. Working through this news. They dart down to you.

“We’ll pick this up later. Thanks, Lukas,” Jimmy says, cutting off the conversation.

The elevator stops, and the three of you step out, walking down the red-carpeted hallway. You pass a pair of double-doors and Jimmy points to it. “This is my room. You’re uh,” he rubs his face as he laughs, nervously, “welcome any time. But I figured you’d be more comfortable with your own room for now.” As he says this, he stops at a room a little way from his own. “If ya need anything, I’m right down the hall. Or Lukas when I’m not here.” Again, you’re begrudgingly thankful that he’s respecting you and giving you your own room. Though you sure as hell don’t miss that it’s just down the hall from his.

Lukas stands outside the room as you and Jimmy enter. Your eyes widen as you step in. The Rune, it’s huge. Replete with a foyer and sitting area. Do the Tartaglias have money or what, because you follow Jimmy and see the extent of the décor. Crimson and gold oriental rugs line the wooden floors, glass and cannisters and all sorts of books and wares line the shelves of inset bookcases. Intricately painted wallpaper covers the walls and catches the lights of the lamps and chandelier. That’s not even to say anything of the adjoining rooms. He watches you as you move around the apartment cautiously, leaving no space unseen.

“You’ll find clothes in the closet for you. You don’t gotta worry about food, it’ll be there when ya want it.”

“All of this, just for me? Why?” Your disbelief is clear as daylight in your voice.

Jimmy shuffles his feet, looking a bit embarrassed. “Just wanted you to be comfortable, is all.”

You cross your arms, not content with that answer. But at least it’s not a prison cell. Well…an obvious one, that is. “And there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?” Might as well try, even though you know the answer.

Jimmy smiles, tapping his head. “Nope. One track.”

You frown, the pain in your hand growing. The skin over your knuckles is red and split. Flecks of blood dot the surface. You hear Jimmy step up to you, that scent of spices and smoke wafting around you. You see him hold his hand out to you. Your eyes glance up, meeting his questioning ones. “Can I see, please?” You sigh, finally giving in and placing your hand in his. You’re just so tired. He grasps it softly, thumb skirting over your knuckles. You hiss. He smiles.

“Ya did knock me good. Definitely gonna be feelin’ this fat lip for a couple days.” He rubs the side of his face gingerly.

"Good." You hope you sounded angrier than you feel, because right now it's all lead and apathy.

He chuckles and lets go of your hand to grab a rag, water and some alcohol out of the cabinet. He dabs the rag in the alcohol first. “This is gonna sting.” You cringe when he starts wiping your hand, but he makes quick work of it, replacing the alcohol with water.

“You got a helluva swing. But I guess you don’t do that much, huh?”

“Glad I don’t have to do it much.”

“Fair point.” He dries off your knuckles, rough fingers sliding over your hand before letting you go.

“Thanks, I guess,” you mutter, deadpan.

His smile is warm as he looks down at you. “Of course.” He steps back, heading to the door. “Well, I’ll say good night then. Sleep well. Holler if ya need anything.”

You turn away as he closes the door. The events of today collapse on you like a ton of bricks, forcing you to fall onto the couch. You hang your head in your hands, tears coming back. When will they stop? You feel like you’ve cried the world over already. You just sit there for a while, adjusting, letting the tears come and finally stop on their own. You almost don’t hear it.

_Tap. Tap tap._

You’re roused from your stupor, twisting to look at the window. Bones glisten and beckon in the moonlight.

Oh, thank god.

You see a flash of blue and then Sans is inside. You clap your hands over your mouth so you don’t yell out his name, even though you want to. You jump up and he meets you halfway, arms wrapping around you. You squeeze him to you fiercely, stifling your sobs in his jacket. You pull back, holding a finger up to your lips. You take his hand and lead him away from the front and into the bedroom, closing the door behind you. You hug him again, finally saying, “Thank god, Sans.”

“shh, it’s ok. i’m here.” His mouth meets yours with a relentless persistence. It feels so good just to kiss him, forget everything that happened, if only for a moment. You’d felt like you lost him, lost everything. He groans as he squeezes you, long and unrelenting. Then he pulls away finally to look you over. His smile is back, though strained and only a shadow of its former self. “are you ok?”

“No, but I’ll survive. They haven’t hurt me if that’s what you’re asking.” He nods, eyes still scanning you. They come to rest on your injured hand. He picks it up gingerly, bones brushing across your knuckles. "looks clean," he murmurs, hushed and tight. He covers it with both of his while his brow draws together.

“while i’m sorry you hurt your hand, i’m really fucking glad you punched him. i only wish i’d done it myself.”

You allow him a small smile. “Yeah, well, he had it comin’.” You look down at his own hands and notice the marks from Gaster’s magic. Your stomach clenches uncomfortably. Black streaks cover his white bones and oddly geometric cuts litter the arm of his jacket. Your other hand comes up to slide up his arm. “Geez, Sans, what did Gaster do to you?”

His eyes flick up to yours, glinting. He'd almost forgotten about it. It still hurts a bit, but not nearly as bad. The warmth from your hand is soothing. “aftermath from his magic. can’t say i didn’t entirely deserve it. lost my temper.”

You think back to what happened. The blue glow surrounding Jimmy, dropping—no, forcing—him to his knees. “Well…I’m kinda glad you did too. Seems we both lost our tempers.” His hand lifts to stroke your cheek, wiping away the residual tears. You lean into his touch. It feels so nice after everything. You just _need_ something familiar. His hand drops, grabbing yours as he looks around the place.

His mouth curls. “fuckin’ coziest cell i’ve ever seen.”

You shrug. “Almost wish it was worse. It would make hating them easier.”

“got enough for the both of us, don’t worry.”

“Did you know he’s a Tartaglia?”

He leads you out into the sitting area, scoping the place. He whispers once you get far enough away from the door, “i guessed as much. they don’t let just anyone run their outfits. explains all this.” He sweeps his hand around. Then he rummages in his pockets, taking out a switchblade to hand it to you. “this is all i got right now. when i come back, i’ll bring your things. had to find the place first.”

“No this is good, thanks. Might need it.” You scowl, thinking about Frankie. Your nerves wind up in a tailspin, however. Sans notices, stiffening.

“what happened?”

“The guy I shot is here. Threatened me. Jimmy made it clear I’m not to be messed with, but I know that look. He’s out for blood.” You wave to the door. “It’s why Jimmy assigned me a guard for when he leaves.”

Sans’ hand lays forcefully on your back as he steers you back inside the bedroom. He takes your shoulders at that, focusing on you, anger and frustration plain in his voice. “you know he’s gonna try somethin’. keep on your toes, please. i’m not gonna be able to follow you.”

You nod, meeting his gaze. Your fingers clench around the knife. You wonder if you’re going to have to use it sooner rather than later. By how fast he acted after Grillby’s, you’re willing to bet all your aces on the former.

“i gotta go report back to w.d. i’ll always teleport in here, just in case anyone is out in the front room, alright?”

Your anxiety comes back at the thought of him leaving. You want nothing more than for him to take you back. Or him to stay. He sees the distraught look on your face, pulling you into another hug. “don’t worry. i’ll be back as soon as i can. i promise.” You nod, breathing hard against his neck. It sends a shiver down his spine, making his bones rattle. You move your head, placing a kiss to his cheekbone. He rumbles low in his chest, squeezing you tight. God does he want to take you. Instead he settles for kissing you again, hard. His mouth presses to yours, taking your lips for his own. Eventually, he lets you go, but not without reluctance. He steps back, making sure you’re clear of him. His eyes don’t move from yours before disappearing.

Alone again.

You hug your arms to yourself and move to the bed, laying down and curling on top of the covers. It doesn’t take long for you to fall into restless sleep.

~~~~~~~~

Sans reappears outside of M’s. He didn’t know he could ever feel as angry and full of despair as he does right now. He wants to go back. Go back and get you out of there. You belong here…with him. It doesn't help that he feels like he's knowingly leaving you in danger. You could be hurt or killed, the prick who started this mess in the very first place sharing the same space with you. He's a wild card and Sans knows something's going to go down. It's only a matter of time. That's just how this shit works. His fists curl in his pockets, creaking from the force he’s inflicting on them. He stalks inside and looks around. He catches Sway and immediately he feels his soul constrict him through to his bones. The hollowness within his chest deepens. He doesn’t know you’re gone. And he watches with dread as Sway sees him as well and heads over and he curses because he’s going to have to be the one to tell Sway you’re gone. Sway comes up with a curious look on his face.

“Heya, Sansy. Seen the chickadee anywhere? They just up an’ split.”

Sans grinds out despite feeling out of breath, “they’re gone.”

Sway’s brow wrinkles in confusion and concern. He asks again, “Whatdya mean? Where’d they go?”

Sans rakes his hand down his face as he shifts his weight. He doesn’t want to fucking do this, explain this all again. He doesn’t think his soul can take it. “the barber has ‘em.”

Sway’s face falls, eyes growing wide and dark with concern. But he forces out a half-laugh, nervous, as if hoping, by some divine providence or otherwise intoxicated state, he didn’t hear it right, “I know ya like jokes, Sans, but this ain’t that funny. Maybe ya need some new material.”

Sans glares at Sway, but it only goes so far. His face is serious and grim, devoid of anything worth laughing about.

“You’re…serious.” Sans nods. Sway’s confusion turns to anger, something so rare on his face that Sans is taken aback. “What the _fuck!_ Why does he have them!?”

“w.d. made a deal.”

Sway is stunned, his thin face slack. He has trouble finding the words, but when he does, his face comes alive in a ghastly mask as he yells, “You’re KIDDING me!” He jabs a finger at Sans. “Did you know this shit was gonna happen?! I thought you liked them!”

Sans’ eye flares at the accusation. He doesn’t want to get angry at Sway, but the thought that he’d had any part in giving you away sets his rage to blaze. “i didn’t fucking know shit, sway! if i had _any_ option to keep ‘em outta there, i woulda done it. you know that as well as i do! you _know_ how much i care about them.” Sway backs off, but still seethes. He paces around the parlor, muttering curses with his hands on his head. He stops and drops his hands in defeat. He slumps as he turns to Sans, fat tears catching the light from the lamps, his thin face trembling.

“You didn’t even let them say bye….”

Sans growls, “it was _him_.”

Sway clenches his fists and clears his throat. “We have to get ‘em back.” Sans nods sharply in agreement. “We know what he looks like now though, yeah?”

“it was tony.”

Sway’s eyes shoot wide in shock, the fire back. “ _Tony?_ He was under our noses the whole fucking time?!” Sans doesn’t respond and he doesn’t have to. Sway starts pacing again, posture rigid. He looks like he’s about to kick a chair, but the fight leaves him and he sits in it instead, holding his head in his hands. Sans comes over to him, hands in his pockets.

“we’re gonna get ‘em back.”

“You better,” Sway mutters from beneath his hands. He gives a large, shaking sigh. “How?”

Sans’ bones tense. “w.d. has a plan.” His anger rises at the thought of him.

“W.D….” Sway says. His ire rises. “Shouldn’t he have known the Barber was _here?_ ” he hisses.

“he should’ve. but he didn’t,” Sans growls again.

“Damn it. Dammit, dammit, dammit….” Sway curses. He looks to Sans, forlorn and beaten and about twenty years older. “What do I tell the boys?”

“they were taken. i don’t care. just let me know if you hear anything.” Sans turns to go, done with the conversation.

But he pauses when Sway says, “Sans.” He waits.

“Do you think we’ll get ‘em back?”

“yes,” he says with no doubt in his deep voice. He walks off, heading towards Gaster’s office without another word. When he steps in, he sees Papyrus and Undyne are already there with Gaster. Though the distress and worry is still there – at least on Undyne and Papyrus – something else has inserted itself into every single one of their features. Sans is immediately put on edge, even more than he already is. He feels like a string, stretched too thin and too taut. Ready to snap at any moment.

“what now?” he asks, wary.

**“The Barber’s men are gone,”** Gaster hisses.

Sans just stares dumbly. “gone?”

“Escaped, brother,” Papyrus says, with a gentleness that it seems only he is capable of. You could build a bridge in the silence, it's so wide.

“mother _f u c k e r_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to those early jazz song titles that make it super easy for me *high five*
> 
> As always, yous guys is aces and thanks for your patience. Here's a long chap.
> 
> Tumblr: ollyollyoxenfreelitbm.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a drabble in my other work, Laughter is the Best Medicine. I changed it a bit from it's original posting, because it's now its own work! I got great feedback from it, and I absolutely love Mob AUs, so here ya go kids. 
> 
> Eat your hearts out.


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